Harry Potter and the Black Ring
by neoepiphany
Summary: Can't wait for book 6? Neither could I. The long-awaited 22nd chapter! Please ReadReview!
1. The Dark Mark over Privet Drive

Chapter One  
  
The Dark Mark Over Privet Drive  
  
The lush green lawns and respectable little houses of Privet Drive buzzed with activity in the late evening sun. The cool weather had drawn most of the neighborhood into their manicured front gardens, where they chatted over garden fences, trimmed flower beds, and shared gossip.  
  
In front of Number four, Vernon Dursley was furiously adding yet another coat of wax to his new company car, his porky arms jiggling with the exertion. "Brand new! Top of the line, this one. The height of German engineering they say," he said in a voice just loud enough to let everyone around hear it easily. He had one wary eye on a neighbor who was poking at the tires with curiosity. Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley was nodding her blond, horsy head as she gossiped in undertones about Her-at-Number-Six with Mrs. Number Three.  
  
In fact, only one resident of Privet drive was still indoors. Harry Potter, a tall, bespectacled boy with untidy black hair was leaning out of his bedroom window to catch the breeze. He drummed his fingers against the window frame in a bored sort of way, allowing all the activity of the street go on below him.  
  
In truth, Harry hadn't been very interested in life at Privet Drive. Last summer, he had been frustrated by being penned up with his horrible Aunt and Uncle for four whole weeks. He had been furious at being cut off from the rest of the magical world, from other wizards and witches like himself, and forced to live with the muggles. Of course, he had had a right to be angry; that June, he had seen Lord Voldemort, the most fearsome Dark Wizard in the world, rise again. He had seen a friend killed, and he knew that the murders and the terror that had run rampant thirteen years earlier would begin again. He had seen a friend die, and he had fought for his own life. Despite all that, Harry had been left in isolation with the muggles, and he had been furious.  
  
This summer, however, was different. This June, he had faced Lord Voldemort again, and once again he had escaped. But Harry hadn't been the same since that day. One of Lord Voldemort's followers, a Death Eater by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Since then, Harry hadn't known whether he wanted to be with people or alone. When he was with other people, they always seemed to want to talk about Sirius, but Harry didn't. When he was alone, he wanted the distraction of other people.   
  
His Aunt and Uncle's house had been a kind of refuge this last few weeks. They didn't know about Sirius or Voldemort or anything. They had been furious when, on the last day of school, three members of the Order, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and Tonks, had… well… encouraged the Dursleys to treat Harry a little better. It seemed that the Dursleys' idea of treating Harry better was to avoid open hostility by ignoring his existence most of the time, and treating him with cold politeness when absolutely necessary. Actually, that suited Harry fine. He didn't have to think about things here. He didn't have to think about Sirius.  
  
Harry glanced over at Hedwig's empty cage. He had sent her out with a message to the Order, to let them know he was okay, the night before. He had only been home for a fortnight, but already he'd gotten three letters from Lupin, all short, encouraging, and uninformative. That was okay with Harry somehow. He just wanted to be left alone right now.  
  
Harry slumped at his desk and thought about writing a letter, but he just chewed his quill unproductively. Eventually, he threw it down onto the parchment, leaving a line of spreading inkblots. He leaned back in his chair, bored.  
  
A squeak in the hallway, followed by the distinctive click of Dudley's door, caught Harry's attention.  
  
He opened his own doorway and peered at his porky cousin, slinking toward the stairs.  
  
"Going out again?" Harry said. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud as Dudley jumped, and turned, his eyes wide.   
  
"What's it to you?" Dudley managed to sneer, despite his obvious fear of Harry. Dudley had seemed unable to decide whether he should be really cruel to Harry, or really terrified of him; he'd decided on a kind of cautious condescension that Harry found comical. Dudley always seemed one step away from grabbing his bottom and running away in terror.  
  
"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "Your gang still picking on eight year olds, are they? Or have you moved up to nine year olds?"  
  
Dudley's face shrunk up with his anger, and Harry was struck by how much he looked like Uncle Vernon. "What a face, Duddykins!" Harry whispered, grinning. "They have medicine you can take for that, you know."  
  
Dudley panted heavily, shoving his balled fists into his pockets. "You'll get yours," he muttered and slunk down the stairs.  
  
Harry shook with silent laughter as he shut his bedroom door. Tormenting Dudley was always a bit of fun, but now that he was gone, Harry was alone and bored again. He picked up a book, Great Moments of Quidditch, and flopped down on his bed to read. He was halfway through an exciting chapter about the 1632 World Cup, where the seekers had somehow chased the snitch out of the stadium and into a nearby town and concussed a passing muggle. At some point he must have dozed off, because he was suddenly aware that it was dark outside, and two golden eyes were peering at him from the window ledge.  
  
He sat bolt upright, the book slipping onto the floor with a loud thump. He flicked on the bedside lamp, slid off the bed, and crossed to the windowsill. "Hello, Hedwig," Harry said quietly to the snowy owl. She fluttered her wings and hooted in a proud sort of way. Harry stroked her feathers, and untied the envelope tied to her leg. "Thanks." She nipped at his finger, and took off into the night, probably to look for mice.  
  
Harry ripped open the flap on the envelope and dumped its contents onto the bed. There were two small pieces of parchment inside. The first was from Ron.  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
Hope the muggles are treating you okay. It's mad here, what with Fred and George's new shop. Mum hates having them to dinner because they keep slipping trick food into the dishes. Anyway, Dad talked to Dumbledore, and he reckons you can come stay with us soon. Just say when you want to leave, and we'll come for you.  
  
Ron."  
  
For the first time, Harry felt ambivalent about getting an invitation to the Burrow. As much as he'd like to see the Weasleys, he wasn't looking forward to the way people carefully avoided talking about Sirius around him, or the way he knew Mrs. Weasley would look at him. Of course, he didn't want to stay with the Dursley's either. He'd have to think about it for a while. He picked up the other piece of parchment.  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
Glad to hear you're okay. No worries about us, everyone this end is fine. Tonks says hello. If you have any problems, just send word.  
  
Remus Lupin."  
  
Just like his other letters, it was reassuringly vague. Some other summer, he probably would have been furious. Right now, he was relieved.  
  
Harry slipped into his pajamas, but he wasn't really feeling too tired, so he picked up his book again. All he really did was sleep nowadays. For a long time he had been haunted by bad dreams, but lately… he didn't dream at all. He started absently reading his chapter, letting his mind wander as he read. He listened to the rhythmic sounds of the night birds and passing cars outside. He imagined Hedwig swooping back and forth above the gardens of Little Whinging, terrifying the rodent population. He thought about Hermione, whose parents were also muggles, and wondered if she was keeping up with what was going on the wizarding world. She must be—she was probably still reading the Daily Prophet cover-to-cover. He, on the other hand, had cancelled his subscription.  
  
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because suddenly, he was wide awake, but laying on his side. His heart was pounding. He squinted at the clock, adjusting his glasses to read the numbers. 3:26 a.m. He rubbed his tingling scar. What had woken him up?  
  
Then he knew. There wasn't any sound, but something was moving downstairs. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.  
  
He snatched his wand off of his bedside table and jumped out of bed. He didn't want to use it, though. After what had happened last summer, he couldn't afford to use magic. With any luck, it would just be Dudley Dursley sneaking in after the night's bullying.  
  
Harry opened his door slowly and stepped into the hallway, jumping the creaky spot. He moved onto the landing and leaned way over, peering down the stairs.  
  
There was nothing there. Harry straightened up. He idly wondered if he was losing his mind.  
  
Suddenly, his scar singed with pain as though it had been burned. A bright green light flared outside, illuminating the hallways. Harry jumped back, and slid silently, but quickly, back into his bedroom.  
  
He leaned out the window and looked up, above the house. He felt his breath catch in his throat.  
  
Twinkling above Number Four, Privet Drive was the Dark Mark. The brilliant green stars that made up the skull with the snake in its teeth cast an eerie glow across the street, illuminating the three hooded figures in the front yard.  
  
There were Death Eaters outside Harry's front door.  
  
Just above the breeze and the distant sound of cars, Harry could hear them hissing at each other.  
  
"Idiot! I told you to wait until it was done! If you woke them—" the Death Eater raised a hand to hit the other.  
  
"I'm s-sorry! I just w-wanted to—" the smaller one whimpered, raising his own hand defensively. It glittered and shone like quicksilver in the green light of the Mark.  
  
"Shut up! There's no time for this. Get inside," growled the third striding toward the door.  
  
Harry sprinted across the room and threw the door back. He had to wake the Dursleys. They had to get out.  
  
He threw the door to his Aunt and Uncle's room open.  
  
"Wake up!" he shouted from the doorway. "Get up! We have to get out of here!"  
  
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT, BOY?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, jumping out of bed. Aunt Petunia sat up, clutching the blankets at her chest.  
  
"There's no time! We're in danger! We have to get out of here, now!" Harry shouted back.  
  
Aunt Petunia suddenly shrieked. Her eyes were wide and shining in the green light, staring over Harry's shoulder.  
  
He spun around. There was a hooded figure in the hallway.  
  
"Hello, Potter," said a low, snarling male voice. The Death Eater raised his wand to chest height. Harry jumped backward and slammed the bedroom door.  
  
The door shattered in a jet of green light. Uncle Vernon was standing pressed against the wall beside the bed. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking, alternately babbling incoherently and bellowing for Dudley. "Shut up," Harry hissed. "Get back! I'll try to fend him off—"  
  
The Death Eater sent a flash of red light at Harry, who ducked just in time. A brass lamp on the bedside table hissed as it melted. Harry grabbed the alarm clock and threw it at the Death Eater.  
  
"Is that the best you can do, boy? This is how the famous Harry Potter fights?"  
  
"What do you want?" Harry hissed.  
  
"You, boy, are coming with me. The Dark Lord wants a word with you," the Death Eater chuckled. "And these poor muggles are about to suffer a very personal tragedy."  
  
Aunt Petunia sort of yelped. A second Death Eater, this one shorter and plumper had appeared in the doorway. It raised its wand toward Harry. "I'll cover him. Let's take care of the muggles first," said a sinister female voice.  
  
"Say goodbye, boy," said the first Death Eater, raising his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon.  
  
There was no time to wait. Harry raised his own wand. "Prote—" he began, but the Death Eater was shouting at the same moment.  
  
"Avada—" the Death Eater began, but he froze. A series of sharp cracks filled the room, like a bundle of firecrackers exploding. A half-dozen voices shouted "STUPEFY!" in unison, and the room was bathed in a sudden red glow.  
  
Harry was blinded by the sudden glare. He clutched his wand and stumbled backward into the bedside table, his stomach churning with adrenaline. There were two loud thumps as the Death Eaters fell to the floor. Harry blinked his eyes and in a shower of stars the room came back into focus.  
  
Eight faces were staring at him. His aunt and uncle were pressed as far into the corner as they could manage, Uncle Vernon's face visibly purple, even in the green light. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the hallway, his magical eye rolling around at a nauseating speed. Mr. Weasley was standing right in front of Harry, Bill just behind him. Professor Dumbledore was standing over the fallen man and Professor McGonagall over the woman. Standing on just the other side of the bed was the last person Harry ever thought he'd see at Privet Drive—Professor Severus Snape. Everyone except Dumbledore looked rumpled, as though they'd just leapt out of bed.  
  
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said in a guarded voice, "are you alright?"  
  
Harry nodded, his blood pounding in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice. "Yeah," he breathed. Then, his mind clearing slightly, "Wormtail! Wormtail was here too!"  
  
"Gone now," Moody grumbled. "Must have disapparated. Just these two left." He gestured toward the floor with his wand. "Your little cousin is gone too," he added.  
  
Harry nodded. "He snuck out hours ago. How did—how did you know they were here?" Harry panted.  
  
"The Dark Mark," Professor Dumbledore explained. "It was seen by nearly every witch and wizard for miles around. And, of course, we've been keeping an eye on you."  
  
"I thought I was the only wizard for miles," Harry said weakly.  
  
  
  
"Not anymore," Bill said. "The ministry planted a few people near you. Just in case. Good thing, too."  
  
Harry nodded. He felt too numb to speak.  
  
Professor Dumbledore crossed toward the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia cowered behind Uncle Vernon, whose face was turning a darker and darker shade of purple.  
  
"I'm sorry about this," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "We have been doing everything possible to protect your family from just such an event."  
  
"You—bloody—failed," Uncle Vernon sputtered, his face twitching as though each of his features was trying to escape in a different direction. "Why—My Home!—You—You—" He seemed to have lost the ability to speak, and simply sputtered, white froth forming at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Dumbledore nodded patiently. "Yes, of course I understand your feelings. Believe me, we're going to do everything possible to understand what went wrong and correct the situation, but in the meantime—" he nodded at Snape, who was closest to the Dursleys.  
  
Snape raised his wand and intoned, "Obliviate." Despite his lingering anxiety, Harry felt a guilty surge of glee at seeing his nemesis at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, using magic against the Dursleys, the only people he came close to hating that much. The Dursleys were surrounded in light for a moment, before they both went curiously still. Aunt Petunia quit cowering behind Uncle Vernon, and Uncle Vernon's face began to drain of color. Snape and Dumbledore helped them out of the corner and onto the bed, where the Dursleys sat looking dazed.  
  
"The containment squad from the ministry should be here any minute," Bill said. "We'll leave your Aunt and Uncle to them, I think. They'll have their hands full tonight—half the muggles in Little Whinging will have seen that." He nodded up at the ceiling. He must be right, Harry thought. Hundreds of people would have seen the Mark. This was probably the first time in fifteen years that there had been something of this caliber to cover up.  
  
"Potter, you'd best come back with us," Professor McGonagall said, stooping down to kneel beside the unconscious Death Eater. She peered under the hood, nodded grimly, and stood back up. "How will we get—them—back with us, Albus?" she asked nodding at both Harry and the Death Eaters.  
  
"Perhaps it would be best," Professor Snape interrupted, "if Potter remained here until someone could be sent to fetch him by some non-magical means?"  
  
"Don't be a fool, man," Moody snapped. "They could be back, and next time, they'll come better armed. Anyway, we want him out of here before the Prophet shows up." His magical eye spun around and around, probably scanning for Death Eaters.  
  
The greenish light was beginning to fade. Harry scanned the street beyond the bedroom window; he could just make out some of the other houses, their own bedroom lights on, faces staring up at the greenish symbol tattooed in the sky over Number Four.  
  
"Minerva and Severus, you will please accompany Harry back to Grimmauld Place. You can go by portkey," Dumbledore instructed. He turned round and nodded at Moody. "Alastor and I will see to it that these two are turned over to the proper authorities. Bill, Arthur, you will please stay and explain things to the Ministry officials?" Mr. Weasley nodded.  
  
Professor McGonagall took Harry's elbow with her free hand. "Let's go, Potter, quickly." She escorted him over the bodies and into the hallway. Moody crushed himself against the wall to let them pass.  
  
"See you soon," he grumbled.  
  
"What about my things?" Harry asked.  
  
"Don't worry," Mr. Weasley called. "We'll bring you your trunk later. Right now, you just need to get out of here." Harry nodded, glad that his trunk was only half unpacked anyway.  
  
He pulled away just long enough to grab his shoes from beside his bedroom door, and then McGonagall resumed her grip on his elbow. He was as tall as she was, now. She steered him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Harry grabbed the first object at hand—a long, wooden spoon—and handed it to McGonagall. She sat it on the table and tapped it with her wand, muttering "Portus."  
  
"On the count of three then," she said, as they clustered around the spoon. "One, two, three."  
  
Harry touched the handle with his finger. It felt like a hook had grabbed something just behind his navel and jerked him violently forward. He felt slightly dizzy.  
  
Finally his feet slammed into the ground, and he found himself in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. 


	2. Harry's Inheritance

*****Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who reviewed the first chapter! Everyone, stick with me. I promise, this story is full of intrigue, excitement, and mystery. Not to mention lots of magic and a few grisly deaths. (The Death Eaters are back, after all!) Please keep reading, and if you're reading, PLEASE REVIEW. Even just a really short one. If I start to think that only two or three people are reading this, I might get discouraged, and you'd never get to the best parts! :)  
  
Anyway, enjoy chapter two, and let me know what you think. :) I'll do my best to get a chapter up every weekend.  
  
Arigatou, Mary-Ruth*****  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Harry's Inheritance  
  
"Harry!" Mrs Weasley said, throwing her arms around him in a choking hug. "Are you hurt, dear? Was anyone injured? Did they catch them?"  
  
"Out of the way," Professor Snape said, pushing them aside. He strode toward the fireplace.  
  
  
  
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley said. "Where are the others?"  
  
Harry managed to disentangle himself from Mrs. Weasley's hug. "Everyone's fine, Mrs. Weasley," he said. He saw Ron and Ginny standing behind her, and grinned at them.  
  
"Hi, Ron," he smiled.  
  
"Hi, Harry," Ron grinned back, but his face had the slightly pale look of one who had just been very worried.  
  
"We got there in time, Molly," McGonagall said, settling primly onto a nearby chair.  
  
"If you'll excuse me—" Snape said suddenly, "if everyone is quite all right, I have more pressing engagements…" he jerked his head back toward the fireplace.  
  
"Of course. Be careful, Severus," McGonagall nodded. Snape nodded curtly, his greasy hair falling in front of his eyes. His eyes met Harry's for a moment, and Harry sensed that Snapes utter hatred of him hadn't abated, despite his rescue. With a loud crack, he was gone. Harry felt relieved… he didn't want to have anything to do with Professor Snape.  
  
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley insisted.  
  
"There were two Death Eaters there when we arrived," McGonagall said. "They had them all cornered in a bedroom, but we managed to stun them before anything happened."  
  
"But the Dark Mark—" Ron interrupted.  
  
"Yes, why did they send it up before? I always thought it was what they did… after…" Ginny pressed. Mrs. Weasley swallowed hard, and absent-mindedly grabbed Harry's hand.  
  
"It was Wormtail," Harry said quietly, sinking into a chair himself. Mrs. Weasley sat down beside him. "When the Mark went up, I looked outside, and I saw… the other two… yelling at him. Then he disappeared."  
  
"Wormtail?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Peter Pettigrew?" She frowned.  
  
"Yeah," Harry went on. "I tried to wake my Aunt and Uncle, but you know how they are… Uncle Vernon just started to yell… then the Death Eaters cornered us. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to use magic against them until I had to—"  
  
"Potter," McGonagall said, leaning forward in her chair, "if you are ever cornered by dark wizards, you may feel free to disregard the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry entirely."  
  
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up, "what we need right now is a nice cup of cocoa and a good night's sleep."  
  
Sleep? Tonight? Harry looked at Ron, who was staring at his mother. "Mum, there is no way that—"  
  
"Yes, Ron, you will be going to bed, and you will be getting some sleep tonight. We can talk about all this in the morning," she said, giving him a look that dared him to protest.  
  
"Right, Mum. Absolutely," Ron nodded. "I feel sleepy already."  
  
Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and a pot of cocoa floated into the room from the kitchen, teetering back and forth gently. A line of little mugs floated behind it as though on parade.  
  
The cocoa was doled out, and they sipped in silence for a moment. It felt good to get something hot and sweet to drink. Now that he was calming down, Harry realized how scared he'd actually been; the cocoa felt as comforting as warm, dry clothes on a rainy night.  
  
McGonagall sat her mug down. It was still full. "I should go help Albus," she said abruptly. "I have… things to do, anyway. Thank you for the cocoa Molly." She smiled, her lips thin.  
  
"Oh—well, if you must," Mrs. Weasley said. "Er, good night, Minerva."  
  
McGonagall nodded, and disapparated with a crack.  
  
"Well…" Mrs. Weasley looked at a loss. "I suppose… we'd better get some sleep. Especially you, Harry dear. I hate to think--"  
  
"Are we staying here, mum?" Ron asked.  
  
"For now. This is probably the safest place for—for us. I'll walk you boys upstairs. Ginny, you remember where your bedroom is?"  
  
"Yes, Mum," she said, dropping her own mug next to McGonagall's with a loud clunk.  
  
Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron shrugged. "She's been like that all week," he whispered. "Temperamental."  
  
"Come along, boys," Mrs. Weasley prompted impatiently. "Bed, now!" She herded them out of the room and up the stairs. Harry kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, still in his pajamas. "Try and get some sleep, now. I don't want you two up talking all night!" Her voice switched from bossy-maternal to concerned-mother-mode. "Sweet dreams, dears. Try to get some rest."  
  
Harry and Ron both muttered, "G'night," and rolled over, pulling the blankets up over their heads. Harry listened intently, breathing as little as possible. There was silence for a very long time. Finally, he heard Mrs. Weasley's footsteps as she retreated down the stairs.  
  
Harry and Ron both sat up and threw back the covers.  
  
"We all thought you were dead for sure!" Ron said, wide-eyed.  
  
"I thought I was dead," Harry said, shaking. His scar was suddenly extremely painful. "I'm still not recovered yet. My stomach is doing laps around my intestines…"  
  
"What happened? How many were there?"  
  
"Three," Harry said. "It's like I said. I heard a noise, and then Wormtail shot up the Dark Mark and I saw them, and then the other two cornered me in my Aunt and Uncle's bedroom."  
  
"You fought Death Eaters in your Aunt and Uncle's bedroom?" Ron said, smirking slightly.  
  
"Yeah." Harry couldn't manage a grin. "They were gonna kill Uncle Vernon, but everyone showed up, and that was it."  
  
"Wow," Ron said. "I can't believe Death Eaters attacked you in your own house…" Harry thought it might just be the dim light, but Ron seemed to tremble slightly.  
  
"Neither can I. The weird thing is, Dumbledore said that I was protected there. Because of my mother's sacrifice and Aunt Petunia and I both having her blood."  
  
"You-know-who must've figured out some way around it," Ron frowned.  
  
"Yeah," Harry agreed. They both stared at the ceiling for a moment.  
  
"Lucky that Wormtail shot off that Mark early," Ron said. "If he hadn't screwed up, you wouldn't have known…"  
  
"I think he did it on purpose," Harry murmured. "To warn me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I think… because I saved his life once. Remember? When I wouldn't let Lupin or… or Sirius kill him? Dumbledore said that one day I might be glad I had him in my debt. I guess… he was repaying the favor by saving my life."  
  
Ron was slient for a long time. Then, finally, he murmured, "Whoa. Harry…"  
  
"Yeah, I know," Harry looked away. He felt suddenly very drained. He lay back and stared straight up, rubbing his throbbing scar with the back of his hand. "What are you all doing here? I thought you were at the Burrow?"  
  
"We were. Dad was out doing something for the Order when we went to bed. Mum woke up Ginny and Me—Fred and George got a place nearer to Diagon Alley—and said we had to go. She reckoned they'd bring you here for safekeeping," Ron said. "If you weren't dead," he added.  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Where's the rest of the Order?"  
  
He heard Ron lay back on his bed too. "When we got here, the place was empty. Mum said she imagined that no one's been here really… Lupin still lives here, but I don't think he likes to be here alone. Anyway, I imagine it spooked a few people, the Death Eaters going after you like that. They're probably busy making sure that there's not some kind of killing spree. What was wrong with McGonagall? That was weird, the way she took off like that."  
  
"I don't know. It was like she just remembered something she had to do…"  
  
"Yeah," Ron murmured, yawning.  
  
Something was bothering Harry. It felt… wrong… to be here, in Sirius's house. Now that Sirius was gone. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the room. "Ron…" Harry muttered.  
  
"Yeah?" Ron yawned again.  
  
"Why are we in… his house still?"  
  
"Er…" Ron sounded nervous. "Well, he did want the Order to use it, didn't he?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry rolled over. "I guess."  
  
He stared at the wall for a while, wishing a little bit that he were still alone, and definitely wishing that he were somewhere else. After a while, Ron whispered a tentative "Harry?" but Harry pretended to be asleep. Eventually he drifted off, into a deep, dreamless slumber.  
  
The next thing he knew, Ron was shaking his arm. "Mum says do you want some breakfast or should she save you something for later," he said.  
  
Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up. "No--no, I'm up." He threw back the covers and looked around. Ron had his dressing gown on, but Harry didn't have any other clothes.  
  
"Dad and Bill brought your trunk back this morning," Ron said. He was combing his hair back, apparently in an attempt to make it look messier. It was something he'd done ever since Griffindor won the quidditch cup the previous year. "It's in the hallway, they didn't want to wake us. Oh, and Hedwig's downstairs."  
  
Harry slipped out of bed and over to the doorway. He rummaged in his trunk, found his clothes, and shut the door. He was just pulling his socks on when Ron stepped outside. "See you downstairs," he said.  
  
"I'll catch you up," Harry agreed.  
  
He rummaged under the bed for his other shoe, which he seemed to have kicked off a little too energetically.  
  
There was a loud snigger. Harry jumped and bonked his head on the bottom of the bed hard enough to knock his glasses off one ear. He grabbed his shoe and emerged from under the bed, rubbing the back of his skull. He turned to the blank canvas on the wall.  
  
"Phineas Nigellus," he muttered. "Forgot about you."  
  
"Some respect for your elders, if you please," Phineas Nigellus said in a sneering tone. "I see you've come running back here again. None of you have any right, you know. This house belongs to the Blacks, and the Blacks alone."  
  
"Yeah, well. Mind your own business," Harry grumbled. He pulled on his shoes and hurried down the stairs to breakfast.  
  
The Weasleys were already assembled around the table, dishing marmalade onto their toast and eating their eggs.  
  
"Morning, Harry," Ginny chirped.  
  
"What do you want for breakfast, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, smiling broadly. "We have eggs and bacon, sausages, or I could do some kippers if you like—"  
  
"Some toast would be fine. And maybe an egg," Harry said. He dropped into a chair between Ron and Bill. He looked up at Mr. Weasley. "Everything go okay with the Ministry last night?"  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "We were out until just an hour or so ago. We had to modify the memories of dozens of muggles—seems that everyone and his brother woke up and saw the Dark Mark."  
  
"Which could very well be what they wanted," Bill grumbled. "They surely didn't think that the three of them could take you on, not after you fought You-know-who and got away."  
  
Mrs. Weasley pushed a nearly-overflowing plate in front of Harry—she seemed to have decided that he needed to eat some of everything. She sat down next to her husband. "Who knows what Death Eaters are thinking?" she said in a definite 'Drop it now,' sort of tone. "I'm just glad you're all right, Harry," she added, patting his hand.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't have been if you all hadn't shown up so quickly," Harry said. "It's amazing how fast everyone showed up."  
  
"Yes, isn't it," Mr. Weasley said in a flat tone of voice.  
  
"What did they do with the Death Eaters?" Ginny asked, her mouth half full of egg.  
  
"Ginny, don't talk with your mouth full," Mrs. Weasley said. "Dumbledore and Moody are taking care of that, I'm sure. There'll be a trial."  
  
"You were front page of the Prophet this morning, Harry," Ron grinned. "They've got that picture of you from the Quibbler on the front page and everything. Big headline. Hermione'll be in a panic when she sees it."  
  
"Doesn't it say I'm okay?" Harry asked, confused.  
  
"To tell the truth," Bill said, "when the reporters showed up, we were pretty vague about what had happened to you. We thought that maybe, if they thought we were covering up your death or something, the Death Eaters might—"  
  
"Bill—" Mrs. Weasley said, brandishing her fork at him.  
  
"Now, Molly. He has a right to know! It's his life, after all!" Mr. Weasley retorted. "We thought that if they thought you were dead—that we were hiding your death—we could keep you safe until you go back to Hogwarts."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. "We're faking my death?" he sputtered.  
  
"No, no," Bill said, raising his hand defensively. "Just… leaving it a bit of a mystery. If people don't know exactly what happened—"  
  
"Yeah, I get it," Harry said. "You should've asked me." He ate a sausage, but his stomach was starting to feel queasy. He didn't like the idea of the entire wizarding world thinking that he was dead—besides Hermione, he wondered what Hagrid would think, or his friends at school, or… Harry could think of plenty of people he didn't want spending their summers wondering if he was dead. He particularly didn't like the idea of decisions being made about him again. Hadn't he already proved his right to know these things? People had died because he'd been kept in the dark.  
  
A thought popped into his head. "Where's Kreacher? He's not still here, is he?"  
  
"No," Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "We've no idea where he's gone. Disappeared right after—er, well, he disappeared a few weeks ago."  
  
"Back to Narcissa Malfoy, I'll bet," Mr. Weasley said, biting a kipper in half.  
  
The doorbell rang, setting all of the portraits in the hall shrieking. Mrs. Black screamed insults down the hallway. "MUDBLOODS! HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS! SULLYING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—"  
  
Mrs. Weasley sighed and folded her napkin. "I'll get the door. Arthur, dear, will you get the portraits?"  
  
He followed her out of the room. Ginny leaned forward to look at Harry. "Mum thought for sure you were dead," she said, grinning.  
  
"So I heard," Harry sighed. He pushed his plate away.  
  
"Leave him be, Ginny," Bill said.  
  
"He can handle it," she scowled at Bill. "Fred and George are coming round later. They read the Prophet before Mum's owl—they were scared to death." She giggled. "Serves them right, after all the trick food they've sent home lately."  
  
"Er, Harry—d'you reckon you'll be allowed back on the quidditch team now Umbridge is gone?" Ron said.  
  
"Yeah," Harry grinned, grateful for the change of subject. "McGonagall wil see to it, I'm sure."  
  
"Good," Ginny said. "You're a much better seeker than me, anyway. I'd rather play chaser—I'm definitely going out for it."  
  
"You know what?" Ron said, grinning. "I bet you'll be quidditch captain! You've been on the team longer than anybody now."  
  
"Maybe…" Harry said. He wouldn't mind being quidditch captain—quidditch was just about his favorite thing at Hogwarts. He would have to think about that. "I wonder who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be," Harry wondered aloud.  
  
There was a collective shrug. "Who knows," Ron said. "I, for one, hope it's Moody. He could turn Malfoy into a ferrett again."  
  
"He never did it in the first place," Ginny corrected. "It was an imposter."  
  
"Yeah, that's why he could do it now—he doesn't know any better," Ron said, smiling. "It wouldn't have to be a ferrett even… I imagine he'd make a good toad, or a babboon…"  
  
"Or a tarantula," Bill grinned.  
  
"Yergh, that's just what I need—a Malfoy spider," Ron shivered. "Nevermind." Harry imagined Malfoy as a tarantula—a great, hairy, snow-white spider. The thought almost made him laugh.  
  
Mrs. Weasley returned, followed by Mr. Weasley who was talking with Remus Lupin. He was wearing some rather tattered muggle clothes, including a long, damp raincoat that was inexpertly patched on the sleeve. He was looking as tired as ever, but Harry was glad to see him.  
  
Lupin spotted Harry at the table. "Harry!" he said, with a smile. "I heard you saved your uncle and aunt."  
  
"Barely," Harry said. "If the Order hadn't shown up…" He shrugged.   
  
Remus patted Harry's shoulder. "They would have been proud of you. You should know that," he said quietly.  
  
Harry didn't have to ask who he was talking about.  
  
Hermione's owl arrived just after breakfast. Mr. Weasley brought it in and read the note aloud although it was addressed to Ron.  
  
"Ron—  
  
Just read the Prophet. Where's Harry? Is he okay? WHAT HAPPENED?  
  
Hermione."  
  
"Told you," Ron said. "Totally ballistic." His voice was smug, but his face was blank. Harry suspected he was worried about Hermione, and he felt the same way—his stomach turned every time he thought about it.  
  
"Well who wouldn't be, poor thing," Mrs. Weasley said. "We'll have to send her a note straight away."  
  
"Not a good idea, Mum," Bill piped up. "The owl could be intercepted, and then You-Know-Who would be back to looking for Harry."  
  
"Hmm," Mr. Weasley said, producing a quill from his pocket. "Ron, you best reply. But write down exactly what we tell you."  
  
The final letter had no information in it whatsoever. It simply read,  
  
"Hermione,  
  
Dad reckons you ought to come out here as soon as you can. We're staying the same place as last summer.  
  
Ron."  
  
"She'll think I'm dead for sure," Harry protested.  
  
"I don't like it either, but Hermione is clever. She'll understand the importance of keeping the secret," Mr. Weasley said, tying the note back onto the leg of the tawny owl.  
  
"Wait," Ron said eagerly, grabbing his Dad's elbow. "We should send the letter with Hedwig. Then, Hermione'll know Harry's here, and she won't worry."  
  
No one said anything. Ron's face slowly fell. "It was just a thought," he said, stepping away.  
  
"Brilliant!" Harry said.  
  
"That is a good idea, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, sounding a little surprised.  
  
"You think you know a guy," Ginny said quietly. "Maybe Hermione's rubbing off on you." Ron's ears were turning red, but he was beaming.  
  
Harry woke Hedwig, who was sleeping in her cage in the hall. She hooted happily to see him, and he stroked her feathers. "Feeling up to a trip?" he asked, tying the note to her leg. He felt relieved, watching her fly away, and hoped Hermione would understand the message.  
  
That afternoon, Harry watched Ron and Ginny having a spirited game of exploding snap. They had invited him to play, but Harry wasn't feeling up to it. He felt uncomfortable being in this house… Everywhere he looked, he saw Sirius. Fortunately, Ron and Ginny were content with just letting him sit in silence on a nearby chair.  
  
He spotted the Daily Prophet on a nearby table, and picked it up. Sure enough, his face dominated the front page, although there was also a smaller photo of the Dark Mark, albeit slightly faded, still twinkling over Privet Drive.  
  
"Harry Potter Attacked!  
  
Dark Mark appears over home of Boy Who Lived  
  
Voldemort's supporters made their first move last night when they attacked Harry Potter and his muggle relations in their home in Little Whinging, Surrey. This attack marked the first time in fifteen years the Dark Mark has appeared above a wizarding residence. Although ministry officials report the muggles were unharmed, the current condition and whereabouts of Potter are unknown.  
  
'This was a very serious attack, and yet another reminder of You-Know-Who's merciless nature," said Arthur Weasley, ministry official. Weasley refused further comment about Potter's condition, except to note that he had been removed from the residence before reporters arrived."  
  
The article went on to describe the magnitude of charms necessary to alter the memories of all the muggles in Little Whinging, to offer advice for safe-guarding one's home, and to theorize at length about his condition. It was almost funny, reading about his own death, albeit a bit eerie.  
  
"Harry, could I have a word with you?"  
  
All three turned and looked at the door. Lupin was looking in, smiling in a pale, worried sort of way. Ginny and Ron looked down at their cards.  
  
"Er, sure," Harry said. He tossed aside the paper and followed Lupin down the hallway, and into a side room. Lupin opened the curtains, letting in a beam of sunshine.  
  
"Sit down, Harry," he said. "Would you like some butterbeer?" He gestured toward a tray on a rickety end table.  
  
"No thanks," Harry said. He stomach felt heavy… in his experience, being summoned into a side room for a private conversation rarely led to anything good. He sat down on one of the chairs.  
  
Lupin sat down across from him, and leaned forward over his knees. He folded his hands in front of him as though he were praying and stared at his fingers. "Harry, none of this is easy. Listen—if there's anything you want to talk about, any time, I'm here for you."  
  
Another lump rose up in his throat. He coughed. "Thanks." But he couldn't talk to Lupin… not really. He was a great guy, and probably the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he'd ever had, but he was no Sirius. Lupin's advice would probably always be to stay on the safe side and follow the rules. Sirius   
  
"Right," Lupin said, and cleared his throat. When he spokeit was with a gentle, quiet voice. "Well. Harry, I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but I have to… er… tell you something." He stared at his feet for a while, as though gathering his courage to speak.  
  
"I'm sure you already know this, Harry," Lupin began, "but I wanted to remind you that you aren't alone. You've still got us all here, looking out for you. And me especially. I mean it Harry—if there's anything you need…"  
  
"Oh," Harry said. He remembered his welcome reception as he got off the Hogwarts Express in June. Yes, he knew that they were looking out for him. "Thank you."  
  
"That's not all," Lupin said. He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and withdrew a piece of parchment. "He wrote this letter. A few months ago. He wanted me to give it to you." He held it out—his hand was shaking.  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, taking the letter. He didn't unfold it.  
  
"And one last thing," Lupin added. He reached into another pocket and held out his fist. "This was Sirius's. He didn't wear it much, but it was important to him. He had it… back when he lived with your dad. His father always wore that big gold ring with the Black crest on it. Sirius considered this his version… the one that showed that he was his own man and not one of them."  
  
Lupin opened his hand, and in it was clutched a ring carved from solid onyx. It was glossy black and smooth, like liquid darkness. In its center was a tiny glittering ruby and a curly silver letter "S". Harry took it and spun it slowly between his fingers.  
  
"We all wanted to give you something of his…" He sighed. "Hagrid wanted to give you Buckbeak, but Dumbledore put a stop to that."  
  
"Buckbeak!" Harry said. How could he have forgotten about Buckbeak?  
  
"Don't worry. We've dyed his feathers and we're calling him 'Billy.' Hagrid's taking care of him. He misses Sirius, though." Lupin sighed. "Same as us."  
  
He stood up, and reached out, as though to pat Harry on the arm, but froze and withdrew his hand a moment later. "Harry—if you need anything—I'm here for you. Really."  
  
"Thanks. I mean it," Harry said.  
  
Lupin left the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry sat in silence for a moment, staring at the ring and the letter. The letter was in a dingy envelope, sealed with a dribble of purple wax, pressed closed by the very ring in Harry's other hand. He turned the creased letter over and over between his hands. He slipped the ring onto his finger—a perfect fit. It felt chilled, as though Lupin had been keeping it in the refrigerator rather than his pocket.  
  
Harry finally steeled up his courage and opened Sirius's letter. His godfather's loopy handwriting filled the page—familiar, comforting, and terrible all at the same time.  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
If you're reading this letter, then I suppose I must be gone. I imagine you must be feeling pretty alone right now, if that's the case. But I want you to remember something very important, Harry, and that is this: you have an incredible family. Don't ever forget it.  
  
You see, it took me years to learn that our families in this life are not simply the people we're born to. I was never a part of my "family," and I know you aren't a part of the Dursleys, despite the blood connection. That's something my parents never learned: there are things much stronger than blood. You have amazing strength in the people around you, Harry.  
  
I hope that I went bravely, facing down some terrible evil and saving my fellow man. Whatever happened, Harry, I don't want you to be sad right now. There will be time to mourn later. Wherever we go—well, if I'm there now, I'm still watching over you, the same as I've always done.  
  
These are very dark times, and I wish that I could be there to fight with you. But there's a lot of your father in you, besides just the physical resemblance, so I don't doubt that whatever comes at you, you will be able to manage. When the time comes, don't give up. Whatever happens, don't give up.  
  
One last thing. If I'm gone, then the Black mansion no longer has an owner. I would like the Order to continue to use the house until it is no longer needed, and then, Harry, I want you to have it. It's not much, but maybe it will make you happier than it's made me.  
  
I doubt you'll ever read this letter. But if you do, I want you to know that I am very proud of you.   
  
Your godfather,  
  
Sirius Black." 


	3. The Unexpected Housekeeper

*****Author's Note: Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed! I'm really enjoying working on this story. Apologies for the delay this week—I had internet issues.  
  
Because this is a story you really have to read all of, I'll try to notify my reviewers of when the next chapter goes online. Expect chapter four in the next few days!*****  
  
Chapter Three  
  
The Unexpeted Housekeeper  
  
That evening, just after dinner, Moody returned to the house. While Lupin, Harry and Ron cleared the dinner table, Moody slumped into a chair, and took a deep draught from his hip flask. Even through his scarred and deeply lined face, Harry could tell he was exhausted.  
  
"Alastor, why don't you go straight up to bed?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sitting down next to her husband. "You didn't get any rest at all last night—"  
  
"Thanks all the same, but there's work to be done," he said. Harry had a peculiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and he realized as he turned around that it was because Moody's magical eye was fixed intently on him, rather than making its customary rolls around the house. "Never a moment's rest for an auror while the Death Eaters are loose. Speaking of which—"  
  
He kicked the chair next to him so that it spun to face his own. "Harry, sit down. We need to have a little talk."  
  
"Not again," Harry whispered to himself. After the talk with Lupin, Harry felt edgy and tired.  
  
"Ron, why don't you go upstairs with Ginny," said Mr. Weasley. It clearly wasn't a question, but an order.   
  
"But Mum!" Ron protested, but once again Mrs. Weasley's glare forbade any argument. With a noisy sigh, Ron sat down the glass he'd been drying and walked toward the stairs as slowly as possible. Harry could hear him muttering, "He'll tell me whatever you say anyway," as he shuffled up the stairs.  
  
Professor Lupin sat down the dishes he'd been charming to clean themselves, and sat at the opposite end of the table. Mrs. Weasley's face went pink.  
  
"Remember, Alastor, there's no need to worry Harry with unnecessary—" she began to protest, but Harry interrupted her.  
  
"It's my life, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not a little boy." His voice had an edge which surprised even himself.  
  
"That's right, Molly. The boy has a right to know," Moody agreed. "I should think we'd all agree with that now."  
  
Mrs. Weasley sank into a chair. "I only meant—" she protested. Harry could tell she was hurt by the way her cheeks had flushed.  
  
"We all know you just want the best for Harry," Lupin said, patting her hand, "but he's proved he can handle it. He's as tough as they come." Harry felt a surge of gratitude and a little pride.  
  
Moody took another swig from his flask, and his magical eye resumed spiraling in its socket. "We turned those Death Eaters over to the Ministry," he said. "The man was Rookwood, but the woman was a newcomer. A witch by the name of Ariadne Noctus."  
  
"I remember Ariadne," Lupin said quietly. "She was called Ariadne Arthurs back then. In our year at school. A Slytherin. She and Sirius once got into a fight—she jinxed him so badly he spent three days in the hospital wing having a spare leg and a pair of horns removed. He got her back, though," he added. "I'm not surprised she went over to Voldemort."  
  
"If Voldemort's already taking in new supporters, that's not a good sign," Moody went on. "Especially since their first move was to attack you."  
  
"How did they get past the charm on my house?" Harry asked.  
  
"We don't know," Moody said, leaning forward in his chair. "Truth is, Dumbledore didn't think it was possible. They shouldn't have been able to come anywhere near you on Privet Drive. Add to that the fact that there were three different wizards watching you, and none of them even saw the Death Eaters until too late—well, somehow, they've got hold of some pretty powerful magic."  
  
"Wait—three wizards watching me?" Harry interrrupted. "Three?"  
  
"We only had one on you last summer and that wasn't enough. Now we know that Voldemort will stop at nothing until you're dead, and that's not going to happen. There have been three wizards watching you at all times since you left Hogwarts last June," Moody growled. "And there will be three wizards watching you every time you step off protected ground until Voldemort is dead."  
  
"Someone could've told me," Harry protested. He was sick of being left out, sick of having all his decisions made for him.  
  
"I just did," Moody retorted.  
  
Harry resisted an urge to roll his eyes like Hermione. "Fine. So what do I do now?"  
  
"You're to stay in protected locations," Moody said. "You're not to leave this house until you go to Hogwarts in the fall—Dumbledore's orders."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. It was like being under arrest. He hadn't done anything wrong, and yet he was being confined to this house as punishment. He couldn't even play quidditch in here, and he was woefully out of practice after being banned last year. Why was Dumbledore—what right did he have to sentence Harry like this?"  
  
"It's for your own safety," Lupin said, but he didn't really sound convinced.  
  
"This is—this is—" Harry couldn't find the words to express the injustice of it all.  
  
"That's exactly how Sirius reacted," Lupin said.  
  
"Harry, be reasonable," Mr. Weasley said. "It's only until September."  
  
"Which is nearly two months away! I can't go out of the house for two full months? What about when I'm at Hogwarts?"  
  
"You'll be free to move about on Hogwarts grounds, but we're not sure how we'll handle Hogsmeade yet," Moody said. "Dumbledore is working on it. If we can figure out how they got past the spell in the first place, that'll be one thing. But there's no use tempting fate."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the stern looks of the others forced him to close it again. It was clear that there would be no discussion. He fought through the sense of burning injustice to ask another question that was on his mind.  
  
"What are they doing with the Death Eaters? They'll escape from Azkaban." Everyone knew that the Dementors had switched to Voldemort's side. Last spring ten convicted Death Eaters had escaped, including Rookwood and Bellatrix Lestrange. Without the Dementors, there was nothing to hold them.  
  
Moody looked at Mr. Weasley. "Actually," Mr. Weasley said, "we've found somewhere else to keep them. But the location must be kept secret at all costs. Just rest assured it's the safest place they could possibly be."  
  
Harry just looked at him. Despite everything he'd proven himself capable of, they were still treating him like a child. His stomach felt even more leaden than before.  
  
"I don't even know where they are, Harry," Lupin added, "although I have my suspicions."  
  
"That's all settled then," Moody said, stretching. He yawned hugely, and then smiled at the Weasleys. "How long are you lot staying? It's good to have someone here all the time like this to keep the place in order. What with Sirius gone--"  
  
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat noisily. "We'll certainly be staying just as long as Harry has to be here. I must say, though, I wish there were some other member of the Order who could be here with the children. I feel so useless, staying in the house all the time. There's so much to be done out there…"  
  
"It's an essential job, Molly," Lupin said. His face was very pale, and Harry realized that the full moon was only a few nights away. No wonder he had returned to Grimmauld Place. "And anyway, I'm here for a while…"  
  
"Of course, I know that. But it was so much easier before." She stood, yawning, and squinted at the mantel clock. "Oh, goodness, look how late it is. Shall we all be off to bed?"  
  
"Sounds like—" Moody began. His voice was cut off by the sudden cacophony of the doorbell and the accompanying cries of the portraits.  
  
"Oh bother," Mrs. Weasley said. "Harry, dear, would you get the portrait? I'll go get the door."  
  
She was halfway up the stairs when Moody reached out and grabbed her arm. His eye appeared to be fixed on an upper point on the wall, but Harry guessed he was looking at whoever was outside the door.  
  
"Get Harry upstairs. Now," he said, his voice cold and rough as gravel.  
  
Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "What—"  
  
"Now!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley changed gears instantly. She grabbed hold of Harry's arm, her face white, and muttered a hurried, "come along." He was half-escorted, half-pulled up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Ron. Harry sputtered protests, but despite the fact that he was at least a head taller than Mrs. Weasley, he couldn't quite fight free of her grasp.  
  
The bedroom door flew open, and Ron and Ginny looked up from their exploding snap cards with eyes like ping-pong balls.  
  
"Mum—" Ginny said loudly, but Mrs. Weasley simply thrust Harry into the room.  
  
"Stay up here. I'll collect you when it's safe," she said, slamming the door. There was the muffled sound of the locking spell as she sealed the door.  
  
Ron and Ginny both looked at Harry. He frowned. "Don't look at me—I'm just a little boy who has to be protected." He slumped onto his bed.  
  
"Harry this isn't a good time to wallow in self pity," Ginny said. "You must have heard or seen something!"  
  
Harry scowled at Ginny, but he answered her question. "The doorbell rang, and Moody told your mum to get me upstairs. That's it."  
  
Ron frowned. "Do you reckon—"  
  
"Hush," Ginny interrupted. "I'm going to listen." She pulled one Fred and George's extendable ears out of her pocket and tried to push it under the door. It wouldn't move. "Blast, she must have made it impervious."  
  
She lay down on her stomach and pressed her ear to the floor. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and then mimicked her action.  
  
There was mostly silence. Ron sighed in frustration. Harry strained his ears harder. "Listen!" Ginny hissed. Ron dropped to his belly again.  
  
A series of muffled cracks, like the ones that had accompanied the arrival of the Order at Privet Drive, echoed downstairs. A few moments later a few more cracks went off, and then the door slammed open, setting off the shrieks of the portraits. It sounded like the entire Order had arrived.  
  
"How do they get here so quickly?" Ron whispered, but Ginny and Harry both hushed him.  
  
There was silence for a few minutes. Harry's legs felt like they were going to fall asleep, but he didn't want to quit listening. There was a muffled shout, followed by a woman's voice, yelling loudly. A series of crashes accompanied by shrieks vibrated the floor, followed by total silence. Harry must've imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw flashes of greenish light from under the doorway. Then, another muffled crack.  
  
When nearly twenty minutes had gone by without another sound, Harry sat up. Ginny followed suit, but Ron stayed on his stomach.  
  
"What do you suppose all that was about?" Harry asked Ginny. He twisted the ring on his finger. It felt smooth and pleasantly cool.  
  
"It sounded vicious," she said, rubbing her ear. It was red after being pressed against the floor.  
  
"D'you think a Death Eater showed up here too?" Ron said, finally sitting up.  
  
"No way," Harry said. "The Fidelius Charm, remember? No one could possibly even find the front door without Dumbledore telling them where it is."  
  
"But Harry—" protested Ginny, "they got past the charm protecting you."  
  
The three of them exchanged a horrified glance. "We could've just listened to everyone… Mum and Dad and Bill and everyone…" Ron said, his voice suddenly hoarse.  
  
Ginny shook her head, looking at the door. "There are too many people in the Order. No matter how many Death Eaters they sent, it wouldn't be enough. I mean, you heard them apparating!"  
  
"But what if—" Ron began, but Harry shook his head. Ron couldn't see Ginny's face from where he was sitting, but Harry could. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears.  
  
"It's quiet now," Harry said. "If there was a fight, we must've won, or else we'd be hearing them looking for us."  
  
Ginny nodded, and leaned back against the bed. She watched the wall in silence, her eyes half closed as she thought.  
  
"How about a game of chess while we wait?" Ron asked. He nudged Harry.  
  
"Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Ginny, you want to play?"  
  
"There's no need to try and distract me, I'm fine," Ginny said. "You two go ahead. I'll just wait."  
  
Ron pulled out the board, and the pieces assembled themselves eagerly. They played a few moves, but neither of them could enjoy the game. Eventually, despite the sounds of the battle between Harry's knight and a particularly zealous pawn, Harry turned away from the board. There was a creaking sound in the hallway that could only be caused by footsteps on the stairs.  
  
Ron stood up, and Ginny scrambled onto the bed. They could hear the muffled speech of someone in the hallway. The door swung open.  
  
"Hello, Harry," George said.  
  
"George!" Ginny shouted. Her voice was divided between relief and anger.  
  
"Hello, Ginny, Ron," he grinned. He was dressed in a particularly ugly violet robe with elaborate dragon-hide trim on the seams and a flamboyant "W" on the chest.  
  
"What's going on?" Ron shouted. "We were shoved up here, no explanations, left for hours—" His face had gone red.  
  
"False alarm, little brother," George said. "Just an owl gone astray sort of thing."  
  
"Since when are you in the Order?" Harry demanded.  
  
"Since we escaped the drudgery of academic life. We're adults, making money, doing our bit to save the world from the evil of You-know-who," he said, his grin vanishing. "But don't ask me to tell you anything because they still treat us like… well, us."  
  
"George, if you don't tell me what happened down there right now, I'll—" Ginny began, pulling her wand out of her robes.  
  
"Now, now little sister. You're underage. You'd hate to be the first Weasley to get chucked out of Hogwarts," George smirked.  
  
"I dunno," Harry said with a grin. "Even I got a warning first. I reckon she has one good spell before they expell her." Ginny brandished her wand.  
  
"I quiver in fear. Just come downstairs," George said turning around.  
  
Despite the flurry of activity they had heard from upstairs, the sitting room was practically empty now. Fred was sitting between Bill and Mrs. Weasley, wearing robes just as dreadful as his brother's but in electric blue. George joined them. Lupin was sitting against the wall, his head in his hands, hiding his face. He looked exhausted, and Harry remembered that the moon was well up by now. Moody was speaking in low tones with a witch in muggle clothes who Harry didn't recognize. All of them looked pale and worried.  
  
"Mum, what happened?" Ginny demanded.  
  
"What? Oh, nothing, Ginny dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Just a mistake. Nothing to worry about—we're well protected here." Her voice was slightly higher pitched than normal.  
  
"We were up there for hours!" Ron said.  
  
"Yes, well, we had to make sure everything was okay, didn't we?" Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Not to worry. Just a miscommunication."  
  
"What kind of miscommunication?" Ron asked.  
  
"Nothing to worry about," Mrs. Weasley responded. "Just an owl gone astray. Nothing to worry about at all."  
  
"But—" Ron insisted.  
  
"Drop it, Ron," Bill said under his breath. "There's nothing to tell you anyway."  
  
The witch who had been talking to Moody broke away from the conversation and headed toward Harry and Ron. "Hello Harry," the witch said. She had dark eyes and long black hair with electric blue streaks running through it, and she was wearing a black lace minidress. Harry recognized her voice.  
  
"Hello Tonks," he replied. "Good to see you."  
  
"Heard you faced down a couple of baddies," she said. "Good for you!"  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said.   
  
"I'm off again," she said, tugging her dress down a bit. She looked like a waitress in some sort of gothic coffee bar. "But I expect I'll be seeing you again soon," she added with a wink.  
  
"Sure, take care," Harry said.  
  
Ron and Ginny were trying to get Fred and George to tell them what had happened, but everyone insisted that it was all a mistake. Mrs. Weasley repeated the words "Nothing to worry about" like a mantra, and Harry felt quite certain that there was something to worry about. He sat down in the chair next to Lupin, who seemed the least likely to talk, and listened to the others chat for what seemed like hours.  
  
"With all that chaos, why didn't Dumbledore show up?" Ginny whispered as she dropped into the chair next to Harry. Harry didn't say anything.  
  
"He did," Lupin whispered without removing his head from his hands. "In fact, he's still here. He's upstairs in a bedroom, seeing to our unexpected guest."  
  
"Unexpected guest?" Harry and Ginny whispered together.  
  
"Yes. They don't want you to know until they've decided what to do. A woman showed up here tonight. A woman no one knows," he said. His voice was very quiet.  
  
"What? Why?" Harry whispered back.  
  
"How?" Ginny hissed.  
  
"We don't know."  
  
"Remus!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cut across the murmuring of the room.  
  
"What, Molly?" He still refused to look up.  
  
Her eyes searched what little of his face was visible, but seemed to find nothing. "I thought I heard something," she finally said.  
  
Harry sighed in disgust. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, would he always be treated like a little boy? Harry pushed his chair back. "I'm going to bed," he muttered. Ginny and Lupin muttered a quiet "Goodnight," to his retreating back, but he just ignored them. He made his way upstairs, changed clothes, and slipped into bed. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but he never heard Ron come in. Harry didn't know when he actually drifted off to sleep, but it felt like ages later.  
  
The next morning he woke up before Ron, and slipped into his clothes as quietly as possible. Judging by the dim light, it was only an hour or two after dawn.  
  
As he passed the sitting room, he heard Hedwig hoot loudly. He turned on his heel, and opened the door. "Back already Hedwig? Oh—Professor—" Harry sputtered.  
  
Dumbledore was bent over the writing desk, a stack of rolled parchment scrolls at his side. He looked up, and then sat down his pen. "Good morning, Harry," he said.  
  
"'Morning," Harry returned.  
  
Dumbledore steepled his hands and smiled. "It's been a very eventful few days for you, hasn't it?"  
  
"My whole life has been eventful," Harry said. "I'm used to it; I can handle it."  
  
"Yes, I daresay you can. Harry, about the events of last night—I have no desire to keep anything from you."  
  
Harry's experience had taught him to jump on the opportunity. "What happened?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in their familiar way, and his voice took on its gentle tone. "It was only a bit of bad luck. I had been approached by a young woman who wished to offer the Order her services, and I sent her here. Unfortunately, the owl that was to communicate this information went astray."  
  
"Was it intercepted?" Harry asked, remembering Hedwig's attack last year.  
  
"Possibly," Dumbledore nodded, "although the note was far too simple to have been of any value."  
  
"But last night—while we were upstairs, it took such a long time," Harry protested.  
  
"Yes. Everyone is a little… edgy… after your attack, Harry. I can't fault them for their enthusiasm, and indeed, I encourage their caution. It was only reasonable that we take every precaution to ensure the safety of everyone in this household. Of course, eventually, we were able to sort things out, and our newest member in the fight against Voldemort has taken her place."  
  
"So, the woman—she's here now?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes. She's in the kitchen in fact. Cooking breakfast. I should go have some if I were you—she makes marvelous pancakes." He lifted his pen again and bent back over the parchment. It was clear that he considered the matter closed for now, and Harry turned toward the door. He wasn't entirely satisfied with Dumbledore's account of events. There was still something he was hiding.  
  
Harry slipped down the steps to the kitchen as quietly as possible. The woman had her back to the door, and she was flipping pancakes with a spatula. A stack of them sat on a plate beside her already, and Harry could smell bacon sizzling as well. She was humming to herself.  
  
She turned to put the plate on the table, and jumped at the sight of Harry.  
  
"Oh!" she said, but recovered quickly. She smiled pleasantly, sat down the plate, and wiped her hands on her apron. "I didn't hear you coming."  
  
"No, I imagine not. I was trying to be quiet, after all."  
  
She grinned. "You're up early." She held out her hand. "I'm Mira McKinney. You'd be Harry Potter, yes?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry, shaking her hand, but not smiling.  
  
"It's good to meet you," Mira said, smiling. She was very tall, and not particularly thin. She had a pretty face, and her dark-blond hair fell in unruly curls to her shoulders. She looked to be around the same age as Bill, and something in her air reminded Harry of nothing so much as someone else's older sister. "I expect you were a bit shaken by my arrival last night. Everybody else was."  
  
"It was rather unexpected," Harry said, looking her straight in the eyes.  
  
"Yes, but they needn't have worried. There are spells protecting this place after all. I couldn't have turned up if I wasn't invited, could I? Would you like juice or tea? Or do you take coffee with your breakfast?"  
  
"Er, juice," Harry said. "You're wearing muggle clothes." Besides the apron, she was wearing a green sundress.  
  
"Yes," Mira said. "Grab that bottle of syrup, would you? I expect Mr. Weasley and Mr. Moody will be down in a moment—they're awfully busy at the ministry these days. I'm a squib. Oh, and there are extra forks in the drawer if you need one."  
  
Harry had to replay that statement in his head to pull out the important bits. "Wait… you're a squib?"  
  
"That's right. Bacon?" she said, shoveling a few slices onto his plate with her spatula.  
  
"Then what are you doing here?"  
  
"I wanted to do something," she said. "Even squibs aren't happy sitting about in our houses waiting for the entire world to blow up, you know. If there are any crunchy bits in the pancakes, don't eat them. I accidentally dropped my Walkman in there, but no worries—I have a spare upstairs. I happened to run into Dumbledore a while ago, and offered my services. He said I could fill in as a housekeeper for a while, if I like."  
  
"But how did you even know about the Order?" Harry asked, after once again mentally dissecting the statement. Benign as she seemed, the story seemed full of holes to Harry, and he was sick of being left in the dark. He couldn't believe she had just volunteered. Even with the wizarding world aware of Voldemort's return, the Order was still spending half their time trying to find wizards to help in the fight against Voldemort. Most just wanted to hide.  
  
"I didn't. I just offered to help and Dumbledore accepted. It was a lucky estimate on my part," she said, helping herself to a bit of bacon.  
  
"Lucky what?" Harry said.  
  
"Estimate? Surmise? Guess?"  
  
"Er. Right," Harry said, and bit into his bacon. The whole thing still seemed a bit fishy to Harry. Mira returned to the stove and began pouring more pancakes. "Wait—how did you know Dumbledore?"  
  
"Are you kidding? Everyone knows Dumbledore!" Mira said.  
  
"Ah, good morning Harry. You're up early," Mr. Weasley said as he sat down at the table.  
  
"Good morning Mr. Weasley," Mira said, smiling. "Would you care for some pancakes?"  
  
"No, thank you, Mira," he replied. Harry thought his voice might have been a bit more curt than usual. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who thought her story seemed a bit off. "Just tea. Look at this, Harry. I've just gotten a new plug. What do you think of it?"  
  
Harry and Mr. Weasley were engrossed in a conversation about such fascinating muggle inventions as flashlights and batteries that they didn't particularly acknowledge the kitchen slowly filling up with sleepy-faced people around them.  
  
"I really must see these batteries sometime, Harry," Mr. Weasley said smiling. "And some of the machines to go with them. It really is amazing how muggles get along!"  
  
"I have a cd player with my things upstairs," Mira said. "I'd be happy to show it to you if you like." She was busy pouring more batter into the skillet as people devoured the pancakes. Even Harry had to admit they were delicious.  
  
Mr. Weasley's face fought a momentary war over expressions. Pleased surprise won. "Yes, thank you, Mira. I'd love to have a look at it later."  
  
"These are delicious," Ron murmured, stuffing another entire pancake into his mouth.  
  
"My own secret recipe," Mira grinned over her shoulder.  
  
"We ought to go, Arthur," Moody said, standing up. Mr. Weasley followed. "There's too much to do and not enough time."  
  
"Harry, Ron—take care of yourselves," Mr. Weasley said sternly. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward Mira. 


	4. Arguments and OWLs

*****Author's Note---  
  
Thanks to my dear reviewers! Remember, to everyone reading, PLEASE review. It'd be nice to know that there are more than 5 folk reading. PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE.  
  
Thank you all for your nice comments! If you have any criticisms, feel free. Or, if you'd rather, you can email me with them.  
  
To Sasinak— Yes, you will be seeing more of Wormtail in this story. Actually, he plays a fairly important part. In a way. (cryptic much?)  
  
Anyway, enjoy Chapter Four. Just an FYI, I've got rough drafts of the story up to chapter eight, and extrememly rough drafts of some later chapters. And there will be a New Sorting Song later on!  
  
Keep reading! -mary-ruth*********  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Arguments and OWLs  
  
A few hours after breakfast, the doorbell rang. Harry had been reading a book quietly in the room he shared with Ron, but the sudden explosion of noise downstairs caused him to throw it down in frustration. He hated this house. He didn't want it.  
  
He was just heading downstairs to see who had arrived when he was hit by a bushy brown blur.  
  
"Oh, Harry! I was so worried! Everyone is saying that you're dead! All over! The Quibbler ran a retrospective on your life with three pages piecing your death together from witness accounts. It's horrible! And I was so worried, but then Hedwig came and I thought that that was a sign. And it was! Oh, I'm so happy to see you!"  
  
"Nice to see you too, Hermione," Harry said, peeling her arms away from around his neck, but smiling.  
  
"I was so scared, Harry. That was brilliant, though, sending Hedwig."  
  
"My idea," said Ron, from the doorway. He looked unusually smug.  
  
"Really?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Wow. Good one, Ron."  
  
Ron grinned a bit stupidly.  
  
"You have to tell me everything that happened," Hermione said to Harry, "but I'd like a glass of water first, if that's okay. I came on the knight bus again… and you know what it's like."  
  
"I'll tell you downstairs," said Harry, although he was reluctant to talk about it again. He wished that he could just ask Ron to tell her, but he thought that might be unfair to Hermione. In some ways, he missed his privacy at Privet Drive.  
  
The three of them walked down to the kitchen, Hermione and Ron talking the whole way. They opened the door and Hermione stopped.  
  
Ginny was sitting at the table, a glass of pumpkin juice in front of her. Across from her sat Mira, who was leaning over a glass of chocolate milk.  
  
"Oh, hello," Mira said leaning back. "You must be Hermione."  
  
Hermione smiled uncertainly. "Yes."  
  
"I'm Mira McKinney. I just started as housekeeper for the Order. Sorry I didn't answer the door—Ginny was asking me about my family. Would you like a glass of pumpkin juice? Or I could make you some chocolate milk."  
  
"Er," Hermione said. She looked at Ron who was still frowning at Mira.  
  
Mira got down three glasses and a flagon of juice and sat it all on the table. She took her own glass, and stepped away. "I expect you all have a lot to catch up on. Just shout if you need me."  
  
Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat down at the table. "You were talking to her, Ginny? What's she like?" Ron demanded.  
  
"She seems nice enough," Ginny shrugged. "She's a little… I don't know, odd. She seems to mix up words and run things together, but she seems okay. I still don't trust her as far as I can throw her, though."  
  
"Housekeeper for the Order?" Hermione asked. "Since when does the Order have a housekeeper?"  
  
"It was bizarre, Hermione!" Ginny said. "She just showed up here last night, unexpected. No one knew who she was, everyone was scared. And then this morning, Dumbledore says that he invited her in the first place."  
  
"We don't know what's really going on," Harry added darkly.  
  
"But Dumbledore must have invited her," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Otherwise, how could she have gotten around the Fidelius charm? She should have been able to walk right up to the front door of the house and still not know she was here. So how could she—?"  
  
"The question of the day," Ron muttered.  
  
"I'll have to think about it later," Hermione frowned. "If only we had the library nearby! But for now, Harry, tell me what happened."  
  
Between the three of them, they managed to recount the entire story for Hermione. It was Harry's first time to hear about the night from the Weasleys' point of view. Hermione was a good audience—she gasped when she was supposed to and was properly relieved at the end.  
  
"Oh Harry, it must have been dreadful for you!" she said.  
  
"So what else is new," Harry muttered darkly. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, and the entire table lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Harry put his forehead down on the table. He suddenly felt another strong desire to be alone.  
  
"Oh, come on, Harry. Quit feeling sorry for yourself," Ginny said.  
  
Harry jerked upright and glared at her. "You don't know what it's like," he muttered.  
  
"Not firsthand, no," she snapped back. "But I've been around you long enough to have a pretty good idea. You're brilliant at facing down danger, but once it's over, all you do is mope around and feel sorry for yourself. Or else you spend all your time shouting at your friends. You've been halfway human, if a bit gloomy, for the last few days—please don't go back into hermit mode now." Her eyes were fixed unblinking on Harry, defiant.  
  
Harry stared back at her. He didn't know how to respond.  
  
Hermione's jaw had dropped. "Ginny!" she said.  
  
"Somebody needed to say it." Her eyes still didn't leave Harry's face.  
  
"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Harry finally managed. "You sit here, with your whole family around you—you've never had to face what I've faced! And do it all alone! You don't know what it's like to lose people you—" Harry's voice suddenly faltered. He was trying to stifle his urge to shout—he didn't dare give Ginny the satisfaction. How dare she!  
  
"I was there, too, you know! I've been possessed by Voldemort before. But that's not what you really want to say, is it? That's not what's really bothering you. You weren't the only one to lose Sirius, you know," Ginny scowled. "You could talk about it. We're all hurting Harry. But it's not doing you any good to just sit around feeling sorry for yourself."  
  
"I DON'T BLOODY HAVE A CHOICE!" Harry shouted, jumping out of his chair. Hermione squeaked in surprise. He caught himself and took a breath to calm down. "I'm dead, remember? Forbidden to leave the house. What am I supposed to do?"  
  
Ginny stood up and glared right back at him. "For a start, you could try working out how those Death Eaters managed to attack you! Or who Mira really is and what she's doing here. Or you could find something to do that doesn't involve moping around and depressing the rest of us!"  
  
Now Ron stood up, his face bright red. "Ginny! What has gotten into you? Leave Harry alone, already!"  
  
Harry and Ginny glared at each other. Finally, she leaned back in her chair. She looked away from the other three (Hermione's jaw was still down as she stared wide-eyed at Ginny). "Fine. But I'm not sorry I said it."  
  
Harry stepped away from the table. "I don't… I can't believe you," he said. Ginny didn't answer. She just stared away at the wall, her red hair glinting angrily in the kitchen light.  
  
"Harry—" Hermione began, but he didn't want to listen to her try to calm him down. He knocked his chair over as he stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He didn't care what they'd told him. He wasn't staying in the house right now. He needed some time alone to cool off. He was going for a walk.  
  
Harry stomped up the stairs and into the entryway. He blinked, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He fumbled on the wall for the light switch.  
  
"Going somewhere, Harry?"  
  
Harry jumped, and turned around. Mira was silhouetted in the light from the stairs.  
  
"I'm going for a walk. Stay out of my way," he snapped at her.  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea, Harry. People are out there right now risking their lives trying to keep you safe. Why don't you let them do that?" Mira's tone was totally level, and she made no move to stop him.  
  
"What do you know about it, Mira?" He snapped.  
  
"Not much," she replied. "I'm new here, and no one really trusts me. But I do know that if you go for a walk in downtown London right now, you probably won't be coming back again."  
  
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he said. "I'm a lot stronger than anyone thinks, you know." He reached into his pocket and grabbed the handle of his wand.  
  
"Going to curse me just to get outside, Harry?" Mira said, her tone as light as ever.  
  
"If I have to," Harry said. But he realized he really didn't want to. He was still mad, but he wasn't mad at Mira.  
  
"No, you won't, Harry. Because you are a good person who, no matter how angry he is, won't curse an unarmed woman with no means of self defense."  
  
Harry just glared at her. "What do you want?"  
  
"I want you to come away from the front door," Mira responded.  
  
Harry stood there for a moment, hesitant. "Fine," Harry said.   
  
He stomped away from the door and pushed past her and up the stairs. He slammed open the door to his bedroom and flopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, letting his anger seethe. But what really hurt was the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach that had been there ever since Sirius died.  
  
That was why I'm so mad at Ginny, a little voice muttered. Because she was right. Because I know I'm moping. But I don't know what else to do. I don't want to do anything else.  
  
"Shut up," Harry told the little voice.  
  
"I didn't say anything!" Phineas Nigellus protested.  
  
It felt like hours passed. Finally, the door opened. "Harry?" Ron said. "It's time for lunch. Aren't you hungry?"  
  
"No," said Harry, trying to ignore his growling stomach.  
  
"If you stay up here, you'll just convince Ginny she's right," Ron said. Harry looked up. He wanted to stay here and be alone for a while, but at the same time, he really wanted to prove Ginny wrong.  
  
He got up, and followed Ron down to the kitchen. A lot of people seemed to have come back for lunch, including Mrs. Weasley and Fred and George, and Ron and Harry slid into their seats as Mira dished up servings of fried chicken. Hermione grinned at Harry weakly. Ginny refused to look at him.  
  
Harry didn't say much for the entire meal, but he did laugh when Ron ate a slice of apple that turned his skin a bright, vibrant green. With his red hair, he looked like some kind of peculiar Christmas decoration.  
  
"Fred! George! How many times do I have to tell you? NOT WHILE WE'RE EATING!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.  
  
"Sorry, mum, but we had to give it a try! New item! The Fluorescent Fruits Line!" George said proudly.  
  
"A single bite will turn your entire body into a luminous shade of the color of your choice! Excellent at parties, works well under black light," Fred grinned. "A steal at ten sickles a box. Of course, the effects are only temporary. He'll fade in a moment."  
  
"Listen," said Mrs. Weasley, brandishing her spoon like a wand, "I can understand the joke shop. I had higher ambitions for you, but heaven knows I only want my children to be happy. And since someone—" her eyes darted to Harry for only a fraction of a second "—saw fit to help you get started, I have no intention of standing in your way. But if you don't stop testing out that trick food on your brother and sister, so help me boys, I'll transfigure the both of you into wombats!"  
  
"Fair enough, Mum," Fred nodded. "Although I wouldn't mind knowing what exactly a wombat looks like."  
  
"Ginny, don't eat that slice of apple, there," George said, pointing to a sliver of apple almost indecipherable from the rest. "Unless you fancy being Passion Pink for a while. These little beauties are going to sell like hotcakes."  
  
Ron, whose skin had already faded to an amusing lime color, nudged Harry's elbow. "A week ago, they tried out their Hiccupping Ham on Mum. She had hiccups for hours until they gave her the antidote. And then, the next day, they slipped Ginny some Chilly-Chili Beans. She turned into a penguin, right then and there. She was stuck that way for hours because we couldn't stop Mum shouting at Fred and George long enough to untransfigure her," he murmured under his breath. Harry grinned. He wished he could have seen it.  
  
Ginny, however, didn't speak to Harry for the rest of the meal, or the rest of the day. Even when they were in the same room together, they avoided talking to each other. Harry could tell the whole thing was making Ron and Hermione uncomfortable; Hermione's expression reminded him of fourth year when he and Ron had been not-speaking to each other.  
  
One afternoon, they were sitting around in the drawing room, playing a game of gobstones while Mira danced around in the hallway, scraping mold off the wallpaper. She had her headphones on—she seemed to almost always listen to music while she was working—so they weren't too worried about discussing her.  
  
"I don't buy that cover story for a minute, do you Hermione?" Ron said, flicking his gobstone.  
  
Hermione, who wasn't playing, was sitting on the floor nearby with a book perched on her lap. "No," she said, biting her lip. "But what I can't figure out—besides how she got past the Fidelius charm, of course—is why they'd just let her into headquarters like this! It seems irresponsible."  
  
"Lupin doesn't trust her, you can tell that," Harry said, dodging as a gobstone let out a stream of foul smelling liquid, which missed his face by centimeters. "He won't talk in front of her." As the full moon had been the night before, Lupin had barely been out of his room. But, the few times he had emerged, he had been unusually short with Mira, which was pretty unusual for Lupin. Harry would have thought he could get along with his own worst enemy. Mira didn't appear to have noticed. She was just as nice and polite to him as to anyone else.  
  
"Nor does Mum, although I think Mira won Dad over when she gave him those batteries," Ron said. "What do you suppose she wants? She's too cheerful all the time. It's unnatural."  
  
"And she's always the last one to bed and the first one up—but she never looks tired," Harry observed.  
  
"Maybe she's a vampire. They don't need much sleep," Ron suggested.  
  
"Her? A vampire?" Harry raised an eyebrow incredulously. "If she's a vampire, I'll eat my Firebolt."  
  
"She could be a spy for Voldemort," Hermione frowned. "But she seems so… innocuous. Air headed even. And anyway, she's helping way too much."  
  
"Yeah, like Snape isn't?" Ron muttered. "You can just imagine him out there, running around with the Death Eaters… threatening wizards, chasing muggles… Probably threatening to drip nose grease on them if he catches them."  
  
Ginny chuckled, but stopped suddenly as though she just remembered herself, and went back to reading her own book.  
  
Harry leaned back. "We have got to get out of this place. If I'm trapped in here for one more day… If only we could get out and play a little quidditch or something!"  
  
"Fat chance of that," Ron said, lining up a gobstone to shoot. "Unless you become an animagus—"  
  
Hermione jabbed Ron suddenly, so that his gobstone missed the others entirely and shot across the room. It let a stream of juice at the wall, leaving a nasty stain there that Mira would probably be tackling later. Harry sighed. "It's okay, Hermione," he said quietly. "I don't think he'd want us to pretend he didn't exist." He twisted the ring on his finger. Its cool, smooth weight was somehow comforting. It felt very real, very solid.  
  
"Oh!" said Hermione. "Well, Harry, that's very… er, very…"  
  
"Impressive," Ginny suggested quietly.  
  
"Thank you," Harry said in a falsely cheery voice. Ginny didn't look up.  
  
"Now if we could only get the two of you to make up," Hermione sighed.  
  
"Happily, once she apologizes," Harry said.  
  
"Me?" Ginny frowned. "I didn't say anything I didn't mean Harry. You always do this! You always get upset, and then mope around and avoid everyone. Remember last Christmas?"  
  
"That was different!" Harry shouted. He remembered last Christmas all too well—the way he had thought that Voldemort was possessing him. But in that case, he was staying away from everybody in case Voldemort was using him as a weapon and he turned out to be dangerous.  
  
"It's exactly the same," Ginny shouted back.  
  
"Honestly, Ginny, what's your problem?" Ron shouted at her. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately! Did you and Dean have a fight or something?"  
  
"Leave Dean out of this," Ginny said. She slammed her book shut and stalked out of the room.  
  
"If Dean can handle her, then he's got more patience than I thought," Harry muttered. "She's like a walking mood-swing."  
  
"Hey, what's going on?" Mira said, coming through the door, her headphones askew. "One minute, everything's nice and peaceful, the next, Ginny nearly knocks me over! Are you lot still fighting?"  
  
Nearly an entire dismal week went by that way, until one morning at breakfast, Harry and Ginny were furiously trying to pretend the other person didn't exist, despite the fact that they were the only two at the table. Everyone else was away on missions for the Order, except for Ron and Hermione, who were still asleep. Harry had managed to be intensely interested in his sausages, and Ginny was busily drawing smiley faces on her pancakes with the maple syrup.  
  
Mira slammed down a milk jug. The sudden clunk made them both jump. "Okay, that's it. I know teenagers can be unbearable, but if I have to persist one more day in these conditions—"  
  
"Sorry, if you have to what?" Ginny said in sugary tones.  
  
"Persist. Last? Endure?" Mira said.  
  
"Endure one more day—" Ginny prompted.  
  
"Of you two giving each other the cold shoulder, I'm going to go nuts. Harry," she said, pointing a greasy spatula at him, "Ginny had a point. I know you are still hurting, and everyone deals with grief in their own way, but retreating into solitude and letting your wounds fester is not going to help. However, Ginny could have made the point better. Ginny," she said, wheeling around, "Harry had a point too. No matter how sympathetic you may be, you don't understand what he's going through, and even if you did, it really wasn't your place to say. There. Now that's all cleared up. Shake hands and be friends again."  
  
Harry glared at Ginny for a moment; she glared right back. Finally, he reached tentatively across the table. She took his hand; they shook.  
  
"Excellent!" Mira beamed. "Well, now that that's done, I'm going to go wake up Mr. Moody. He goes on duty in an hour," she said, walking out of the room.  
  
Harry and Ginny sat in silence for a minute. Then, suddenly, Ginny spoke.  
  
"Can you believe that? She was talking to us like we're children!"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. "If only Fred and George were here. We could slip her some fluorescent fruit."  
  
"That'd show her," Ginny said, grinning back. "I think I still have a bit of that Passion Pink apple slice upstairs." Her grin faded. "I am sorry I upset you, Harry." she said, her voice quiet.  
  
"I'm sorry I blew up at you," he said finally.  
  
Ron came down to breakfast, his hair rumpled. He stopped and took in the sight of Harry and Ginny both in the same room grinning. "So the two of you have stopped fighting, then?" he said.  
  
"I think so," Harry said. Ginny grinned.  
  
That afternoon, an owl arrived, carrying a thick package from the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"Our OWLs!" Hermione shrieked, nearly dancing in delight. "I'm so nervous—I wonder how I did?"  
  
Harry groaned. He didn't want to think how he'd done on his OWLs. He had been a bit preoccupied during a few of the tests. In fact, at the mere sight of the envelope, his scar began to hurt. He rubbed it with the back of his hand.  
  
"Eurgh, I have to take those this year," Ginny frowned. "I hope they go a bit better than last year."  
  
"Definitely couldn't go any worse," Ron said.  
  
"They could," Mira joined in as she handed out the envelopes. "You never know when the ministry might pass an educational decree that all exams shall be henceforth taken while wearing regulation pink frilly dresses to prevent cheating."  
  
They all exchanged a look. Harry raised an eyebrow at Mira, who blushed. "Well, it would bother me," she said quietly, pulling her headphones back on and wandering back over to her chair where she was mending a torn curtain.  
  
"If she were any more of an airhead," Ron muttered, "she'd float away."  
  
"It's almost like she just doesn't understand things. Even easy things like jokes," Hermione said. Of course her eyes never left her envelope.  
  
They all clutched their envelopes anxiously. Harry looked at Ron, who was looking as green as if he'd eaten another Fluorescent Fruit. He was staring at Hermione, who was licking her lips nervously.  
  
"So," said Hermione finally. She looked at the other two. "Who goes first?"  
  
"Maybe you should wait until Mum's home," Ginny suggested.  
  
"No way," Ron said. "If I've got any Ds in there, I'll need some time to prepare."  
  
"Let's go all at the same time," Harry said. "On the count of three."  
  
"Wait, does that mean we count to three and then rip, or we rip on three?" Ron said meekly.  
  
"Three and then rip," Hermione said exasperatedly. "And Ron, do calm down! Okay, sure, maybe these test results will determine your entire future, but however bad it is, there's nothing you can do about it now."  
  
"Thanks Hermione, that makes me feel so much better," Ron muttered, his greenish tint intensifying so much that Harry wondered whether the fluorescent fruit had some sort of permanent effect on Ron's skin tone.  
  
They each gripped the edge of the envelope, and counted together.  
  
"One. Two. Three!" Riiiip!  
  
Harry pulled the thick parchment out of the envelope. His scar prickled painfully, maybe just because he was nervous. He looked at the first sheet, which bore the crest of the Wizarding Examinations Authority at the top.  
  
"Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
Please find the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels (OWLs) below. If you have any further inquiries, please direct them to the Wizarding Examinations Authority, care of Mr. Horace Trogblotter, Undersecretary.  
  
Thank you,  
  
Griselda Marchbanks."  
  
Affixed to the parchment was a smaller sheet which listed his exam scores.  
  
"Astronomy: A  
  
Care of Magical Creatures: O  
  
Charms: E  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O  
  
Divinations: P  
  
Herbology: E  
  
History of Magic: A  
  
Potions: E  
  
Transfiguration: E"  
  
Harry gaped at the paper. An E in potions? He had thought he had maybe mustered an A for acceptable, but an E? He was speechless. That was… well, exceeding his expectations. Still he remembered McGonagall's words at his career advising meeting. "To be an auror, you'll need to take potions, Potter, and Professor Snape doesn't take students into his NEWT level class with less than an Outstanding score."  
  
Hermione sighed audibly with relief. "Thank goodness. I was really worried about astronomy, after what happened," Hermione said. Harry guessed she had gotten all Os. "How did you two do?" Her cheeks were flushed again, this time with apparent glee.  
  
"Better than I expected," Ron said, smiling weakly. "I got a couple of Es, and an O in Dark Arts! Only one P and no Ds."  
  
"Me too," Harry said, smiling with relief. "Got the P in divinations. No more crystal balls and death predictions for me." Harry had had enough prophecies to last him the rest of his life.  
  
"Mum should be pleased," Ginny said cheerfully. "Well, not about the P of course, but the rest of it. I expect we'll have another party tonight!"  
  
"We should celebrate now!" Mira chirped. They all turned to look at her—Harry had forgotten she was there. "I just baked some chocolate chip cookies… would you like some?"  
  
They all trooped down to the kitchen. They spread their letters around them on the table, and ate the gooey, still-hot biscuits, talking excitedly to one another. Ron was halfway through an elaborate reenactment of his quidditch tryout, which he was describing for Ginny, when a sudden commotion upstairs froze them all.  
  
Mira stood bolt upright. "Stay here," she said, ripping off her headphones and dropping them on the table. "I'll call you if it's safe." She ran up the stairs.  
  
"This is getting ridiculous," Ron groaned. "Can we go a single day without being shoved into a room and told to stay there until it's safe?"  
  
"Whatever it is, we're safer than she is, anyway. She can't even do magic!" Hermione said.  
  
"If they leave us down here for hours, I'm going to be furious," Ginny said, twirling her wand over her fingers dangerously.  
  
But they didn't have long to wait. Within a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley came down the stairs, followed by Mira and Kingsley Shacklebolt.  
  
"Mum!" Ginny and Ron said. Her face was pale and drawn. She was twisting her hands together in a worried sort of way.  
  
"What's happened, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked.  
  
She sighed, and sat down at the table beside them. "There's been another attack." 


	5. The Daily Prophet's Special Report

*******Author's Note—Well, here it is, Chapter 5. Thanks for your reviews and your interest! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but things are starting to really heat up now.  
  
Crater212—You think Mira is a transfigured house elf? An interesting theory! We'll have to see how it plays out.  
  
As for ships in the story, well, I'm not a H-Hr or a H-G shipper. As for Tonks… well, eeeeeeeeeew! I mean, he's 16 and she's like… my age! Gross! That 6 or 7 years can make a lot of difference. But, hey, way to get those creative-theoretical juices flowing! I will, however, reveal that there is a ship in the story. Actually, I imagine it'll get pretty obvious before too long. ^_^  
  
Enjoy chapter 5, my fellow HP fans! Happy reading.  
  
Neoepiphany***************  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The Daily Prophet's Special Report  
  
Everyone gasped. Ginny dropped her biscuit.  
  
"Another attack? You mean Voldemort?" Harry said. He felt curiously numb, like he swallowed a block of ice. He remembered how his scar had hurt earlier. He had thought it was because of the OWLs…  
  
"I'm afraid so," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.  
  
"Is—is everyone okay?" Hermione asked. Her face was white. "What happened?"  
  
Mira sat a cup of tea down in front of Kingsley and Mrs. Weasley, before resuming her own seat. Mrs. Weasley spun her cup anxiously between her fingers.  
  
"There were two deaths," Kingsley said, his voice even deeper than usual. "Both muggles. Two wizards had to be taken to St. Mungo's."  
  
"Oh!" Ginny gasped.  
  
"What happened?" Harry persisted.  
  
"I suppose we might as well tell you everything. It'll be in the Prophet tomorrow… On the muggle news tonight…" Mrs. Weasley said relunctantly.  
  
"We don't know everything yet," Kingsley said. "There are still Aurors and quite a few members of the Order of the Pheonix out there now trying to figure everything out. As far as we know… well—"  
  
"It looks like it was just a bit of… of fun for them," Mrs. Weasley spat out the word angrily.  
  
"They're going back to their old ways," Kingsley frowned, "now that they aren't in hiding anymore."  
  
"A group of Death Eaters attacked a wizarding couple. Barnabus and Liza Dodge," Mrs. Weasley said sadly. "Good people. Always very helpful to the ministry. You-know-who probably remembered how much trouble they were to him last time. Not members of the Order of course, but still very harmful to him."  
  
"What did they do to them?" Ginny asked.  
  
"Had them both under the Cruciatus curse," Kingsley sighed. "But poor Liza… well, they jinxed her very badly. It'll take all the healers in St. Mungo's to put her right, poor thing."  
  
"And at her age," Mrs. Weasley sighed.  
  
"What about the muggles?" Harry asked.  
  
"Wrong place, wrong time, I'm afraid," Kingsley said. "They came up to the house when they heard the commotion and saw the lights. Wanted to help. The Death Eaters killed them both right there on the front doorstep."  
  
"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "The poor things!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley nodded. "But after that, the Death Eaters left. Shot off the Dark Mark and disappeared."  
  
Mira shook her head. "People will be in a panic," she sighed. "First Harry, now this—it's not going to be good."  
  
"No kidding," Ron said. He looked numb.  
  
"If only we'd known sooner," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "We could have tried to stop them… we might have helped poor old Liza."  
  
"Unfortunately," Kingsley nodded, "they couldn't have picked a worse day. Today was the day that the two who attacked Harry were being moved to the ministry for trial so everyone was busy trying to see to it that something just like this didn't happen."  
  
"But no one expected them to go after the Dodges," Mrs. Weasley shook her head sadly.  
  
An uncomfortable silence lapsed over the table. Mira pushed a fresh cup of tea in front of Kingsley who nodded his thanks.  
  
"Is there anything we can do, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked.  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled in a tired way. "No, thank you dear. I'm just glad that you four are here, where you're safe. I expect things are only going to get worse from here on out."  
  
"Well, there is a bit of good news to cheer you up, Mum," Ginny said. Harry frowned at her. "Ron, Hermione, and Harry got their OWL results today."  
  
"Did you?" Mrs. Weasley wheeled on Ron. "How many did you get?" she demanded.  
  
Ron held out the parchment, which had been sitting on the kitchen dresser behind him. "See for yourself," he grinned.  
  
Mrs. Weasley's eyes shot across the parchment. A grin sprouted on her worried face, and she threw her arms around her son.  
  
"Bless me, Ron! I'm so proud of you!" she wailed. "Mind you, I'm not too pleased about that P," she said, sitting back, and examining him at arms length.  
  
"It was in divinations!" Ron protested. "That Trelawney was a right old fraud, you know!"  
  
"Well, as it's only divinations," Mrs. Weasley conceded, hugging Ron fiercely. His face went red.  
  
When she pulled away, Mrs. Weasley was wiping a tear away. "And how did the two of you do?" she asked.  
  
"Hermione got straight Os," Ginny said grinning.  
  
"That's excellent, Hermione," Kingsley said, shaking her hand. She blushed and smiled.  
  
"Congratulations!" Mrs. Weasley cheered, hugging Hermione as well.  
  
  
  
"Thank you," she smiled.  
  
"And Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, grabbing Harry's results paper off the dresser and scanning it as well.  
  
Harry suddenly found himself enveloped in a massive hug, much like the one Mrs. Weasley gave to Ron. "I'm just so proud of you!" she said, now crying openly. Harry's face felt hot as she pulled away, hugging Ron and Harry's shoulders. Mira was gazing at them with a wistful smile from across the table.  
  
"It's good to have something nice to cheer us up when there's such sad news," she said, sipping her own tea. "We'll have to have a party."  
  
"Speaking of parties," Mira added, "somebody's birthday is Friday."  
  
Harry's ears flushed.  
  
"Hey, that's right!" Ron said, elbowing Harry. "You're going to be sixteen!"  
  
"We'll have to have a party, of course!" Hermione grinned.  
  
"I've never had a birthday party," Harry muttered, his ears feeling quite hot.  
  
"That's precisely why we need to have one," Mira said. "Give me a list of your favorite foods and I'll make them all for the party. Whatever you want."  
  
Mrs. Weasley rigorously avoided looking at Mira. "That'd be just the thing to cheer us up," she said, but her tone was less enthusiastic.  
  
"I'd better be heading back, Molly," Kingsley said, standing. "I imagine they'll be needing some help with the Dodges. Just call me if you need to head out again."  
  
"We've instituted a buddy system," Mrs. Weasley explained as Kingsley headed upstairs. "We're all going everywhere in pairs. That way, hopefully, we'll all be a bit safer. As your father was busy, Kingsley escorted me home."  
  
They were a subdued group that afternoon. Ginny helped Mira to make a tremendous meatloaf for dinner (Ron groaned, "I hate meatloaf!") while Hermione and Ron bickered over something. Harry sat reading an old quidditch playbook of Charlie's and twisting Sirius's ring around his finger.  
  
Just before supper, Moody, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley came in, all looking very tired.  
  
"Mmm, is that meatloaf I smell?" Tonks grinned. She was wearing her hair bubblegum pink again today, but, perhaps because of the earlier tragedy, it was pulled in to a McGonagall-like bun rather than her usual short and spiky number.  
  
"It is," Ginny smiled. "I helped Mira to make it. We figured there'd be a lot of people for dinner."  
  
Moody scowled at Mira, his magical eye zipping back and forth over the oven where the meatloaf was baking, as if scanning it for foreign bodies.  
  
Mr. Weasley flopped into one of the chairs, and leaned on his hand. "What a day. I'm totally exhausted." He sat a rather abused copy of the Daily Prophet on the table.  
  
"They couldn't have chosen a worse day," Tonks agreed.  
  
Moody said nothing, but he nodded and took a swig from his hip flask.  
  
"Can I have a look at this, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, reaching toward the paper.  
  
Mr. Weasley sighed. "I suppose so. But it's not very nice, Harry."  
  
Harry unfolded the paper to find a big picture of a house in ruins. There were two chalk outlines on the outside pavement, no doubt where the muggles had fallen. Witches and wizards were bustling busily back and forth in the photograph. Below that was an inset photo of an older couple, smiling and waving: Barnabus and Liza Dodge. They had kind, smiling eyes.   
  
"You-know-who Strikes Again!  
  
Wizards Panic after the Second Fatal Attack in Days."  
  
"Second?" said Ron, who was reading over Harry's shoulder. "When was the first?"  
  
"Mine," said Harry. "Remember?"  
  
"Oh, right. Sorry."  
  
Harry went on reading the article. "The wizarding world was stunned today when supporters of You-know-who attacked another wizarding family, this time killing two muggles and badly injuring both wizards.  
  
Barnabus and Eliza Dodge, both retired, were taken to St. Mungo's Hospital this afternoon, where they are being treated for severe spell damage. The muggles, a Mrs. Doris Claymore and Mr. Frank Hartwright, were killed outright. Mrs. Dodge is listed in critical condition, while Mr. Dodge is expected to recover within a month.  
  
'Attacks of this nature are only going to increase until He-who-must-not-be-named is brought down,' noted Alastor Moody, famed Ministry Auror responsible for the capture of many original Death Eaters. 'Self-protection is essential. Constant Vigilance!'  
  
'The important thing is to not panic,' added another auror. 'Keep your head and defend yourself.'  
  
The Dodges, both former members of the Magical Law Enforcement squad, were very outspoken against You-know-who during his last attack, and were responsible for the arrests of many of his suporters (Death Eaters). Ministry wizards theorize that this attack was an act of revenge similar to the attack on young Harry Potter two weeks ago."  
  
"There you are, Harry," said Ron. "I knew they'd drag you into it."  
  
Harry shrugged and kept reading.  
  
"Potter, on whose condition ministry wizards refuse to comment, has not been seen since the attack, and is largely presumed dead.  
  
'It broke my heart,' said Ms. Chloe Gladwaiter, 42, of East Bartlett. 'Little Harry Potter has meant hope to all of us for so long, and now he's gone.'  
  
Eyewitness accounts from the scene of that attack indicate that a body was removed from the scene prior to the arrival of reporters."  
  
Harry scanned the rest of the article. "It goes on about self-defense measures and that sort of thing for a while," he said. He pushed the paper away. It felt strange, reading about his own death in the newspaper.  
  
"I don't like pretending to be dead," he said quietly. He thought about his friends at Hogwarts and wondered if they all thought he was dead too. His mind went to the other members of the DA. He wondered if Neville was worried. He thought of Cho, wondered if she was crying over his supposed death like she had Cedric's. Ron nodded sympathetically.  
  
"All in all," he said, "I'll be really happy to get back to Hogwarts." 


	6. The New Quidditch Captain

****Author's Note: Thanks again for all the reviews!  
  
To Szihuoko: More details? Ok, I'll try to keep that in mind!  
  
Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! ---neoepiphany****  
  
Chapter Six  
  
The New Quidditch Captain  
  
By Friday, Harry's mood had not improved, but he was making every effort not to retreat into the solitude he so strongly desired.  
  
Harry had had a hard time coming up with a list of his favorite foods. It was weird to be asked what he wanted. The Dursleys didn't care, and at Hogwarts, all the food was prepared in advance. With Ron's help, though, he finally managed it.  
  
There had been no more attacks, but that was thanks in part to the Order. They had found out, probably from Snape, the names of three wizards Voldemort wanted dead, and they were moved hurriedly to secret locations. Only a handful of people in the Order knew where they had been sent, including Dumbledore and Moody. The first relocated family had been reluctant to go, but a few days later, their home was levelled by Death Eaters who weren't pleased to have arrived to an empty house. Once the pictures appeared in the Daily Prophet, the other families that the Order approached were happy to go straight away.  
  
By now, Harry was more than a little stir crazy. He had been cooped up inside for nearly three weeks now, and he was dying to get out and walk around, or maybe play some quidditch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were pretty good about keeping him company, but they still managed to get outside every once in a while. He was tired of being cooped up with Mira, who spent a ridiculous amount of time listening to cds and dancing around with a cleaning-fluid laden rag in her hand.  
  
Friday, however, was special. He awoke with a good feeling, which the delicious smells rising from the kitchen only helped to increase. It was the first really good mood he'd had in a long time.  
  
He pulled on his favorite jeans and t shirt while Ron slowly woke up. Harry went downstairs to the kitchen, where he froze in the doorway. There was someone new sitting at the table. Taking up an entire side of it, in fact.  
  
"Hagrid!" Harry shouted, delighted.  
  
"There yeh are, Harry!" Hagrid said, standing. He was grinning widely. Now that he was up, Harry could see Mira grinning bemusedly over her coffee cup. Harry wondered if she ever slept.  
  
Hagrid enveloped Harry in a bone-crushing hug. "I knew yeh weren' dead!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "Yeh've taken on You-know-who, after all. Coupla Death Eaters aren' about ter get the best a you."  
  
"Thanks, Hagrid," said Harry, cheerfully. He dropped into a chair.  
  
Hagrid was working on a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Mira dropped some toast and marmalade in front of Harry as well. Then with a wink at Harry, she left the room.  
  
"I heard about that one," Hagrid said, his voice a low grumble. "Dumbledore says she's okay, and that's all right fer me, but just yeh mind yerself around her, Harry. I don't think she's tryin' anything, but just in case…"  
  
"Don't worry, Hagrid," said Harry. "We're trying to figure out what she's up to."  
  
"You just keep outta her way," Hagrid admonished, wolfing down a forkful of eggs. "If she is trouble, the last thing we'd need is fer her to catch yeh snoopin' around."  
  
"We don't snoop, Hagrid," said Hermione from the doorway, her voice dignified and a little pompous. She was followed by Ginny. "We simply make an effort to discover the truths that lie beneath the surface." She smiled.  
  
"Six of one, Hermione," Hagrid said, grinning in welcome.  
  
"Good morning!" Ginny said, slipping into the room. "Happy Birthday Harry!"  
  
"Yeah, happy birthday," Ron added, following the girls into the kitchen. "Hagrid! When did you get here?"  
  
"How does it feel to be sixteen? Different than fifteen?" Ginny grinned.  
  
Actually, it did. For the first time in weeks, he felt peaceful today. At this moment, he wasn't worried or angry; the empty place in his stomach where Sirius had been didn't hurt quite so much (although he could still feel its presence); and all the troubles in the world didn't matter to him. He was just a normal kid, having his birthday.  
  
"Wish we could play quidditch," Ron sighed. Harry nodded. He could've really used a good game. He hadn't played in such a long time, he was practically aching to get on his broom for a bit.  
  
"Heard all three of you got Os on your Care of Magical Creatures OWLs," Hagrid said, beaming. Besides being their friend, Hagrid was Care of Magical Creatures teacher.  
  
"Yeah, piece of cake," Ron said, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.  
  
"We were well prepared for the exam, Hagrid," Hermione assured him.  
  
"Well, I'm awfully proud a the three of you," Hagrid said, his face beaming.  
  
"Good morning!" Mira said, re-entering the kitchen, a green apron around her waist. "I nearly forgot. These came for you this morning." She produced a thick envelope from on top of a cabinet.  
  
"Our Hogwarts letters!" Hermione squealed.  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
Mira passed out the envelopes. They all ripped into them eagerly.  
  
CLUNK.  
  
All heads turned toward Ginny, who was staring down at her plate of scrambled eggs with a look of mingled shock, delight, and fear. There, fallen from the envelope, was a shiny red and gold prefect's badge. It had fallen out of the envelope and sent up a spray of eggs.  
  
"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione said, her voice shrill with excitement. "I can't believe it! You too!"  
  
"Mom'll be nuts," Ron added, grinning proudly at his sister.  
  
"Fred and George won't approve," Ginny said, her tone more than a little smug about this.  
  
"Congratulations, Ginny," Hagrid said, patting her arm.  
  
"This is so exciting, Ginny!" Mira beamed, polishing the eggy badge on her apron. When she handed it back, it practically gleamed.  
  
Ginny beamed and pinned the badge onto her t-shirt.  
  
Harry read his letter. It told him to catch the Hogwarts train as usual from Platform 9¾ on September 1st. He fipped over to the booklist. There were several new books.  
  
Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, by Miranda Goshawk  
  
Advanced Transfiguration Techniques, by Mogrifus Moorehead  
  
The Greate Arte of Potions, by Hecate Newcomb  
  
The Rarest of Beasts: a New Compendium of Magical Creatures, by Newt Scamander  
  
Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes: A guide to Self-Defense against the Worst of the Wizarding World, by Bradley Gateworthy  
  
"This doesn't make any sense," Harry frowned. "It's got a potions textbook listed here, and McGonagall said I had to get at least an O to go on in potions. I only managed an E."  
  
"I'm sure they'll sort it all out for yeh when you get there," Hagrid said, polishing off his breakfast.  
  
"Look—a new Defense against the Dark Arts textbook," Hermione said. "I wonder who we've got this year?"  
  
"Couldn't be worse than that Umbridge woman," Ron scowled. Harry nodded. A firebreathing dragon would be better than Delores Umbridge.  
  
"I thought no one would take the job," Ginny said. "I thought everyone thought it was cursed."  
  
"They do," Hagrid said. "The ministry's appointed someone again."  
  
Harry froze, a bite of toast halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked toward Hagrid They all stared at him with open mouths.  
  
"Surely they—they wouldn't do that again, Hagrid?" Hermione managed finally.  
  
"They did," he insisted. But Harry noticed a twinkle in his eye. "Won't tell yeh who it is—yeh ought to be surprised like everyone else—but believe me, this year's teacher's a sight better than Umbridge. Well, nicer at any rate. I think you'll be pleased."  
  
They all exchanged a glance. After last year…  
  
Harry sat down his letter, and noticed that there was another piece of parchment stuck to the book list. That was funny—nobody else had three pages. He pulled it apart, and read the letter.  
  
"Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
As of now, I am reinstating your quidditch privileges. As the most senior member of the team, it seems fitting that you be the new quidditch captain. This will be a difficult task, as there are a lot of positions to fill this season. I am expecting you to be a model student and DO NOTHING THAT WOULD JEOPARDIZE YOUR POSITION.  
  
I have no doubt that you will see to it that we have another Gryffindor win for the cup this year.  
  
Congratulations,  
  
Minerva McGonagall."  
  
Harry stared aghast at the letter.  
  
Ron and Hermione who had been discussing the new Dark Arts teacher in hushed tones both looked up when Ginny elbowed Hermione and nodded toward Harry.  
  
"What? What is it?" Ron demanded.  
  
"I—I've been made quidditch captain," he said, his voice trembling.  
  
For a moment they all stared at each other. Then, with a sudden explosion of sound, they were all up and cheering. Ginny hugged Harry, Hermione hugged Harry, Hermione hugged Ron, Hagrid hugged Harry, Mira hugged Harry, Hagrid hugged Mira, and Harry hugged everybody. They were all sort of dancing around the kitchen shouting and squealing, when Mrs. Weasley ran through the door.  
  
"What's happened? What? What is it?" she demanded.  
  
"Oh, Mum!" Ginny shrieked, throwing her arms around her mother. "I'm a prefect!"  
  
"What? Oh GINNY!" Mrs. Weasley said. She joined in all the jumping and shrieking. "Now that's really everyone in the family! Oh, I'm so proud!" She was hugging Ginny so tightly that Ginny's face was slowly turning purple. Ginny didn't seem to mind—she was still smiling.  
  
"Told you," Ron chirped to Harry, who was still flushed with glee.  
  
"We'll have to get you your own owl! Or would you rather have a broomstick, like your brother?" Mrs. Weasley asked.  
  
"A broomstick, Mum. Just a Cleansweep, maybe? Only I want to go out for chaser this year," Ginny said.  
  
"And speaking of quidditch," Mira prompted, nudging Harry.  
  
Harry grinned. "I've been made captain of the quidditch team!"  
  
"Oh, HARRY!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked again, now catching him in her huge, enveloping hug. "Oh, that's wonderful! You deserve it, you know. You're the best seeker Gryffindor's had since Charlie. Everyone says so."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, beaming.  
  
Everyone finally calmed down a bit, and sat at the table, still smiling. Their faces were all a bit flushed, especially Hagrid's, who looked unusually pink. Mrs. Weasley wiped a tear out of her eye.  
  
"I'll go to Diagon Alley, and get your books and things," Mrs. Weasley smiled. "I'll be back before the party tonight."  
  
"Wish I could go," said Harry wistfully.  
  
"Me too," Ron said.  
  
"You'll stay here and have a nice day," Mrs. Weasley commanded. "I'll be back soon."  
  
They did have a nice day, after all. Harry and Ron spent a lot of the afternoon discussing who they thought would be good as the new chasers. Ron thought they desperately needed new beaters, and, after seeing what little he had of last season's games, Harry agreed. Finally, Hermione and Ginny caught them, and got them into a rather vicious game of team chess, which Harry and Ron won.  
  
Mrs. Weasley returned after a while with their Hogwarts supplies. She had a stack of books for each of them (The Great Art of Potions was a massive, leather bound tome—Harry doubted it would fit in his bag), new robes for Ron who had once again outgrown his, refills for their potions kits, quills and fresh rolls of parchment, new boxes of owl treats, and Ginny's broom. She'd gotten the same kind as Ron had, and Ginny beamed when she saw it.  
  
"Mum! It's wonderful," she said, her eyes glazing over slightly. She ran her hand up and down the glossy lacquered handle.  
  
They all had a look at it and chatted for a while about quidditch and broomsticks. Harry thinking about his Firebolt, where it was leaning against the wall of his room. He imagined how good it would feel to get back onto the quidditch pitch, and fly around for a while. He swallowed down a lump in his throat when he thought about it—the broom had been a gift from Sirius. He twisted Sirius's ring around his finger. It was soothing somehow. Finally, they divvied up their stuff, and carried it off to their bedrooms. There was a bit of commotion downstairs, and Harry realized that the dinner guests must've arrived. He followed Ron and Hermione downstairs.  
  
A banner was hanging over the table again, same as last year. "Congratulations Ginny—New Gryffindor Prefect! And Congratulations Harry—New Quidditch Captain!" A bunch of balloons nearby had been bewitched to change colors and randomly flash the words "Happy Birthday!"  
  
The table had a magnificent spread. There was steak and kidney pie, roast ham, roast beef, and magnificent barbecued chicken. There was a heap of mashed potatoes with thick, steaming gravy, dishes of peas and green beans, and sweet golden corn. There was another dish full of treacle tart, and in the center of the table, a huge cake with the words "Happy 16th Birthday Harry Potter!" emblazoned on it. Harry grinned.  
  
In a few minutes the kitchen was full. Harry filled his plate, and headed over to talk to Fred and George. They were telling Ginny about a new quill they had made which dissolved as soon as it touched parchment. "We'll give you one for free if you promise to slip it to Hermione sometime," George said to Harry. He grinned.  
  
"Joke shop going well?" Harry asked.  
  
"We outsold Zonko's last month!" Fred said, puffing out his chest with pride. "He sent us a howler about being his best customers for ages and then turning into rivals."  
  
"We've had the ashes framed," George nodded.  
  
They went on to tell Harry and Ginny about some of their other new inventions—including a pair of shoelaces that were impossible to tie, socks that continually changed color so you always had an odd pair on, sunglasses that let you see in the dark, and a sack of toffees that made your friends grow second tongues.  
  
"Makes it dead difficult to talk," Fred explained. "Never know which tongue is going to try and do the pronouncing. But the spare vanishes once you get to the center of the toffee."  
  
"I cannot believe you made prefect, little sister," George said, scowling at Ginny. "I can only hope you never become Head Girl. I could never survive the shame."  
  
"I may!" Ginny protested. "I'd be marvelous at it, too!" She crossed her arms.  
  
It was steeling up to be a good fight, so Harry grinned and walked over to where Hagrid and Lupin were talking in hushed tones. They had their backs to him, so they didn't see him approach right away.  
  
"—not on the network," Lupin was saying, "but Dumbledore's got some kind of plan for her."  
  
"You don't trust her, do you?" Hagrid whispered.  
  
"Not really, no. But there's no other explanation," Lupin frowned. He spotted Harry. "Ah, Harry! Happy Birthday!"  
  
"Thanks," Harry grinned. He had a pretty shrewd idea who they'd been talking about.  
  
"And congratulations on that Defense against the Dark Arts OWL, Harry. Really well done," he added.  
  
"Thanks again," Harry said. "D'you know who our teacher is this year? We heard it was another ministry appointment… it's not another of Fudge's aides, is it?"  
  
"No," Lupin grinned. "I think you'll be surprised. I certainly was. So was Professor McGonagall."  
  
Hagrid snorted. "Never thought I'd see the day," he chuckled. "Fer her to react like that!"  
  
"Sssh, you'll give it away!" Lupin admonished him, smiling.  
  
"Are you talking about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Mira said, joining the conversation while munching demurely on a bit of steak-and-kidney pie. "I've only just heard who it is! Isn't it exciting?"  
  
"You know?" Harry said, exasperated. "And I don't?"  
  
"Sorry," she shrugged. "I overheard."  
  
"And you're quidditch captain," Lupin went on, ignoring Mira. "You really ought to be proud of yourself, Harry."  
  
Harry smiled. Mira looked for a moment like she was going to add something, but she staggered forward suddenly.  
  
"So sorry, Mira," said George, who had rammed into her from behind. He grabbed her arm to help steady her.  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that," Fred added, coming up from her other side. "We just wanted to get Harry. We have something we want to show him."  
  
"Okay," Harry said, slightly bewildered. He followed Fred and George over to a corner. "What--?"  
  
"Sssh," George hissed. "You were just our cover. We're testing a new creation out on Mira. Slipped some of this onto her food when I bumped into her." He pulled a small, bright orange envelope partway out of his pocket. It was full of a fine, yellowy powder.  
  
"Mum only said we couldn't try our stuff out on Ron and Ginny, after all," Fred nodded. "Anyway, she doesn't like Mira, so we reckon the worst we'll get is a quiet lecture."  
  
"Any second now," Fred said, watching Mira polish off the last of her plate. Hagrid had wandered off, leaving just her and Lupin. He was asking her questions, and she was replying with a rather sad look on her face.  
  
After a moment, though, they hissed with disappointment. Mira had just taken her last bite, and nothing had happened. "Must be a dud batch," George sighed.  
  
"I don't understand it! It worked on us. Her voice should've gotten higher and higher, until she sounded like a house-elf on helium. It would've been hysterical," Fred added shaking his head sadly.  
  
"Back to the drawing board," George nodded. "Guess we need more burdock root and knarl fur."  
  
"Maybe next time," Harry said encouragingly. He turned his head, looking for Hermione and Ron. He spotted them in a corner, talking animatedly.  
  
He approached the two of them. Hermione was snapping at Ron. "Of course he sent me a letter, he's my pen-friend. That's what they do! Anyway, I don't see what you're so upset about. I write him the odd letter every now and then—big deal."  
  
"But Hermione," Ron protested, "It's Vicky. It's not just any pen-friend, it's Krum!"  
  
"Do stop calling him that! Just because you're jealous—"   
  
"Why would I be jealous of Krum?" Ron snapped.  
  
"I don't know, Ron. You tell me!" Hermione said.  
  
Ron floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.  
  
"Knock it off, you two," Harry interrupted them. "I've got something to tell you." He told them about what he heard Lupin and Hagrid saying about Mira, and then what Mira had said.  
  
"If she overheard, that means it's probably someone here," Hermione said.  
  
"How d'you reckon?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"She probably overheard them telling someone about it," she shrugged. "So, let's see… Hagrid and Lupin are out."  
  
"Could be Moody," Ron said.  
  
"Not likely after last time," Harry frowned, "but possible. There's your Mum and Dad—"   
  
"No way. Dad's too busy at the Ministry, and Mum would've told us. I can practically hear her: 'At least when I'm your teacher, I'll be able to keep a proper eye on you all.'"  
  
Harry had to agree. "Well, that leaves Fred and George, who are definite nos—"  
  
"Kingsley and Tonks," Hermione added. "But the aurors are so busy right now, I don't know why they'd be appointed."  
  
"Or Mira," Ron finished. He nodded to the corner where Mira and Lupin were still talking. Lupin was actually chuckling as Mira gestured wildly about something.  
  
"Mira?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "What would she teach us—how to fight the dark arts by serving badly made coffee?"  
  
"Or how to counter curses by humming at them," Harry suggested. "Anyway, she's too big of a klutz."  
  
"So's Tonks, and she's an auror," Ron pointed out.  
  
"Anyone could be the new teacher. I wish it were Lupin again," Hermione sighed. "He was the best we've had, besides the Moody impostor."  
  
"Guess we'll just have to wait and see," Harry said.  
  
Mrs. Weasley called him over suddenly to open his presents. Harry blushed, opening them in front of everyone, but he had a good time. Mrs. Weasley had knitted him an emerald green sweater with a snitch on the front, and there was a brand new quidditch play book for him to fill up. Fred and George had provided a large bag of trick sweets, which Harry sat aside for fear of mixing it up with the real ones on the table. Ron had gotten him a Chudley Cannons t-shirt, and Hermione had provided a little stone that flashed your schedule so you never missed appointments. There was a model quidditch team from Ginny (the players were just about as big as his pinky finger, and they kept zipping around their box, tossing the quaffle back and forth). Hagrid had offered up a little whistle to call some kind of animal to you (although he couldn't quite remember what, so Harry was a bit nervous about that). Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley had all gone in together on a charm that could reveal magical disguises if held in front of someone's face. There were lots of cards full of well-wishes as well. Harry blushed his pleasure.  
  
It was altogether too soon that Mrs. Weasley was shooing them all upstairs to bed. Harry left the model team out on the floor, and he and Ron fell asleep watching the tiny seeker zipping around looking for the near-invisible snitch. 


	7. Hogwarts Again

******************Author's Note: Here it is, finally! The return to Hogwarts! There's a new sorting song in this chapter which I am particularly proud of, although it doesn't hold a candle to JK's; I try my best. Also, keep your eyes peeled for a guest appearance by my sister in law. (not that anyone will know who she is!)  
  
Thanks again to my reviewers. You guys keep me going!  
  
On that note, I happen to KNOW that there are a lot of people following this story who haven't reviewed. I know this because a few of you have instant messaged me and told me as much. I totally enjoy the IMs, but please—if you're reading, just let me know! I'd hate to get disgruntled due to lack of interest. Especially when we haven't even got to the best bits yet!  
  
Enjoy the new chapter!***********  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Hogwarts Again  
  
The weeks until their return to Hogwarts passed almost too quickly. There were no more attacks, and things seemed to calm down a bit around the house. Harry spent a lot of time planning new quidditch moves and working up a training schedule. He already had his new playbook half full. As long as he was captain, he was going to see to it that Gryffindor kept up their winning streak. As he poured over every quidditch book he could find, copying down complicated diagrams, he idly wondered if this was how Oliver Wood had felt.  
  
On the last day of August, Mira bustled about, helping them all to get packed. She had taken off her headphones after the fifteenth time Mrs. Weasley had to repeat herself, but she was still constantly humming. She had made sure that all their robes, socks, and t-shirts were freshly laundered and crisply folded, and tucked them all neatly into their trunks.  
  
At precisely nine-o-clock, Mrs. Weasley pushed back from the dinner table, where they had all been enjoying another spirited conversation about the possibilities for filling the open positions on the quidditch team. Ginny was still very pleased with her new broom, and kept quoting the same statistics at them that they had heard from Ron the year before. Mrs. Weasley cut it all short, however, when she stood up and announced that it was time for bed.  
  
"But Mum!" Ginny protested. "It's barely even dark yet! It's so early!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "I'll not keep up our record for nearly oversleeping and being late for the Hogwart's Express. We have to leave early because of our escort, and I'll not have any of you slowing us down because you're too bleary-eyed to see where you're going."  
  
Despite their protests that they wouldn't be able to sleep, everyone finally went off to bed. Harry, for one, was really looking forward to getting out of the house in the morning, and he and Ron stayed up talking late into the night.  
  
It seemed like he had only just drifted off to sleep when Mrs. Weasley was shouting for them to wake up. Harry sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and jumped out of bed. He couldn't wait to get out of this house. He couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.  
  
He dressed slowly and tucked his pajamas into his trunk. Ron, who seemed more asleep than awake, dressed like a zombie, and Mrs. Weasley was already getting irritated by the time they got down to breakfast. Ginny and Hermione were already downstairs, as was Lupin, Moody, Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Mundungus Fletcher. Harry assumed they were his escort. A lump rose in his throat as he thought about last year, when Sirius, in dog form, had come along to King's Cross.  
  
"Morning," Mira said, as she dropped heaping plates of egg and sausage in front of each of them. Her headphones were around her neck, along with a gaudy amber pendant, and her cd player was tucked into the waistband of her apron. "Eat up! You'll need your energy for school."   
  
"You all right, Harry?" Ginny asked.  
  
"Fine," he said, dropping into a seat beside Ron and trying to shake away the sudden wave of grief. "Just thirsty." He took a huge glug of orange juice as proof.  
  
There was a squelching noise and a yelp. Everyone looked up.  
  
Mira fished something out of the pancake batter. Apparently, she had dropped her cd player into it again. She held it out at arm's length, like a drowned rat. The cd attempted to keep spinning despite the dripping glop falling out of it. Everyone seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. Ginny gave up and erupted into giggles that she tried to hide by pressing both hands against her mouth.  
  
"Remus, could you?" Mira said pathetically.  
  
Lupin whipped out his wand. "Scourgify," he said, half a smile on his face, and the pancake batter vanished.  
  
Hermione caught Harry's eye. "Remus?" she mouthed. Harry shrugged. Of course, it had always been Mr. Lupin before…  
  
Finally, all the breakfast was eaten and everyone ran back upstairs to get their trunks. Just as he was walking out the door, Harry realized he had almost forgotten Sirius's ring. He darted back to his bedside table where he had put it after he took it off the night before.  
  
It was gone.  
  
"Hurry up, Harry," Ron called from halfway down the stairs. "We've got to go."  
  
"Have you seen my ring, Ron?" Harry shouted. He dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the bed. No sign of it.  
  
"I know what happened to it," Phineas Nigellus said airily.  
  
"Shut up," Harry snapped, pitching his pillow at the portrait. "No one asked you." For some inexplicable reason, he felt a lot of animosity toward the portrait.  
  
"What's the holdup, Harry?" Mr. Weasley said, appearing in the door. "We're going to be late."  
  
"My ring is missing," Harry said apologetically.  
  
"What, Sirius's ring?" Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows. "Then we better find it. Where was the last place you saw it?"  
  
"Here, on my bedside table," Harry frowned.  
  
"You didn't put it on for breakfast?"  
  
"I—I don't think so," Harry said. He strained his memory. He couldn't remember having it on.  
  
"Can I help, Mr. Weasley?" Mira said, appearing in the doorway.  
  
"Harry's lost his ring, Mira."  
  
"Weren't you wearing it at breakfast? I'll go check the kitchen," Mira said, disappearing into the hallway. Mr. Weasley dropped down to the floor and began peering into corners as well. Harry's face was flushed with embarassment. He knew everyone was waiting on him.  
  
After a moment, Mr. Weasley stood up. "It's no use, Harry. If we wait any longer, we'll miss the train altogether. Molly and I will give the house a good scouring, and we'll send it to you once we've found it," he said with a sigh.  
  
Harry stood, frustrated. He opened his mouth to protest, when Mira appeared at the doorway, ring in hand. "Here it is, Harry!" she said, grinning from ear to ear. "It was on the edge of your plate. Found it in the sink."  
  
Harry took his ring, still frowning. He was sure he hadn't put it on that morning. But how could it have gotten downstairs? He slipped it on his finger. It felt even cooler than usual—it was positively icy.  
  
Mr. Weasley enchanted Harry's trunk so that it zoomed downstairs. Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage, and they hurried out. Mundungus volunteered to bring their trunks, but Lupin jumped in and grabbed the luggage trolley instead. (Harry got the impression that everyone was worried about Mundungus having time to rifle through their things.)   
  
Mira saw them off at the door. "I have to stay here," she said, giving them each a small hug. "You lads have a wonderful year! If you've forgotten anything, I'll send it on. I'll miss you—it'll be so quiet here without you!" She waved at them from the doorway.  
  
They waved goodbye as they set off down the sidewalk. Just like last year, their Guard formed a ring around them, and they made their way to King's Cross. Harry felt more than a little conspicuous in the center of the circle.  
  
When they reached Platform 9¾, Kingsley went through first, followed by Harry. Harry was startled—he had never seen the platform so crowded. There were students and parents all pressed together into a huge mass of people. Cats ran mewling through the crowd and owls in cages squawked and hooted in irritation at being jostled and shaken. When Harry arrived, a murmur went through the crowd.  
  
"What's with all the people?" Ron muttered through clenched teeth as he juggled Pig's cage and his broom.  
  
Harry shrugged, bewildered.  
  
"Oh dear," Hermione murmured, as she pushed her way out of the gateway.  
  
"I was expecting something like this," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his head. He tried to force his way toward the train. "Pardon me, miss. Excuse me, please. Pardon me—"  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow, but then, he caught a little of the conversation running through the crowd.  
  
"Look, it's Harry!"  
  
"It's Harry Potter!"  
  
"What a relief!"  
  
"I knew he wasn't dead."  
  
"Didn't I tell you, Mum? Didn't I?"  
  
"Who'd have thought it…"  
  
Harry felt his face grow hot. They were there to see him. To see if he was really alive. That's why there was such a crowd—no one had gotten on the train yet, because they were all waiting to see Harry.  
  
"Harry!" he heard someone shriek. Neville Longbottom came pushing through the people toward Harry, a look of relief plastered across his round face. "Harry, I was so worried!"  
  
"Hello, Neville," Harry said, smiling.  
  
"What'd you keep us worrying like that for?" demanded Seamus, who had followed Neville and was grinning widely.   
  
"Come on, let's get a car before Harry is totally swamped," said Ron. Quite a lot of the crowd was milling toward Harry—students and parents both seemed to want to get a good look at him.   
  
Mr. Weasley put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Watch out for yourself, now, Harry," he said. Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry goodbye before her own children. "Take care, Harry dear!" she said, pushing him onto the train. Lupin waved with a smile as Hermione pulled Harry onto the train.  
  
Most of the compartments were still empty, as everyone had been waiting around outside. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville all crowded into one, pushing their things into corners of the luggage rack. Hermione let Crookshanks out of his basket, and he immediately curled up on her trunk and went to sleep.  
  
"Come on, Ginny, we'll take you down to the prefects' meeting," Hermione said. Ginny, still pinning her badge onto her jacket, stood, and the three prefects left, leaving just Harry and Neville in the car.  
  
"Good summer?" Harry asked, smiling.  
  
"It was okay," Neville said. "Got a new wand," he said, pulling a long, cherry-colored wand out of his robes. "Eleven inches, cherry wood, with a hair from a unicorn's tale. Gran was furious about Dad's though," Neville frowned. Harry tried not to grimace. Neville's last wand had been broken in their fight with the Death Eaters last spring.  
  
The compartment door slid open, and in wandered Luna Lovegood, looking as faraway and dreamy as ever. Her butterbeer cap necklace had been replaced by a string of huge, glittery plastic beads, and her long hair was pulled into two loopy ponytails.  
  
"Oh, hello," she said. "Good summer? Mind if I sit down? Everywhere else is full."  
  
"Go ahead, Luna," Harry said, pointing to the seat across from him. He felt very sorry for Luna, for the way other students treated her. He was inclined to be nice to her, even if it would make the compartment uncomfortably crowded when the prefects returned.  
  
"Thanks," she said. She pulled open a copy of the Quibbler, which she promptly turned upside down and began to flip through. "I'm surprised to see you're not dead," she said, conversationally.  
  
Harry started. "Oh, er, thanks," he replied.  
  
"My father ran an article on your death, you know. I was very upset. There were plenty of witnesses who saw your body removed. How'd you manage it?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "I don't know, really. I left by portkey."  
  
"Oh," said Luna. She shrugged and immersed herself in her magazine.  
  
"I knew you weren't dead," Neville said. "Well, that's not exactly true. I was worried. But Gran shouted and said that the Prophet had no proof, and the sensible thing to do would be to keep you out of sight for a while, so I guess she managed to convince me. But I was worried."  
  
Before Harry could reply, a loud bang went off in the hallway. Harry and Neville both jumped up and ran to the door (Luna continued complacently reading her magazine). In the hallway, Malfoy and Ron were facing each other, both flushed and angry, wands out. There was a terrified-looking first year standing between them. He kept looking back and forth between them. Harry pushed the door open.  
  
"Everything okay, Ron?" he asked casually.  
  
"Oh fine. If only this complete and total GIT would quit using his badge to threaten first years—" Ron snapped, his eyes never leaving Malfoy's face.  
  
"Manners, Weasly," said Draco. "Well, well. The famous Harry Potter makes another publc appearance. Suppose you were terrified to come out of your little hiding place, eh, Potter?" he said.  
  
"Suppose it ruined your year, finding out that I was still alive?" Harry said casually.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Potty," Malfoy said. "Anyway, you'll wish you were still in hiding, soon."  
  
"How was your summer, Draco?" Harry asked with mock concern. "Was it dreadfully hard on you—not having Daddy around to tuck you in?"  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed. "You leave my father out of this, Potter," he hissed.  
  
"Push off, Malfoy," Ron snapped.  
  
"Watch yourself, Weasel King," Malfoy snapped. "I'm going anyway. I want to get back to the Slytherin car, where the company is a bit more quality—if you know what I mean. Just be warned—you two have no idea how bad this year is going to be for you."  
  
"What are you on about?" Harry said.  
  
"Nothing," Malfoy shrugged infuriatingly. "Oh, by the way, Potter. I'm the new captain of the Slytherin team. We're planning to destroy Gryffindor."  
  
"Is that so, Malfoy?" Harry said, narrowing his eyes. "Well, I'm the new captain of the Gryffindor team, and we're not about to lose to slime like you."  
  
Malfoy just smiled, and walked away.  
  
"Slimy git," Ron growled.  
  
"Anything off the trolley?" said the witch, as she rolled in with the cart.  
  
They bought a stack of cauldron cakes, chocolate frogs, and some pumpkin juice each, and settled in for a nice talk. Hermione returned a few minutes later, but Ginny had disappeared—Ron said she'd run off with her other friends—so there was plenty of room in the compartment after all.  
  
Throughout the journey, dozens of faces passed by the door of the car, all peering at Harry. He tried to ignore them, despite the heat rising to his cheeks. All the remaining members of the DA stopped by the car to say hello, including, to Harry's surprise, Cho Chang. Harry had imagined that Cho might still be a bit touchy after last year.  
  
"Hello, Harry," she said. "I'm so glad to see you're okay! I was worried."  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that Cho," Harry said, grinning sheepishly. "I didn't have much choice."  
  
Cho shrugged. "I heard you're the new Griffyndor quidditch captain—congratulations."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said.  
  
"Well, I'll see you around then," Cho said, arily.  
  
"Yeah, bye," Harry added, and returned to his conversation with Neville and Ron.  
  
Just before they reached Hogwarts, they all changed into their robes. Ron and Hermione vanished off somewhere to perform their prefect duties. Neville began to worry that he'd lost his toad Trevor, but a quick search of the compartment found him curled up on top of Crookshanks's furry belly. Harry grabbed Hedwig, Luna carried Pig, and Neville ended up carrying Crookshanks and Trevor off the train, as they hurried to grab a carriage for the five of them. There was a thick mist falling outside, giving their skin a cold, sticky feeling.  
  
"Firs' years this way! Firs' years over here!" They heard Hagrid shouting, and everyone smiled. It had been strange, the year before, when Professor Grubbly-Plank had been there instead.  
  
Harry flinched at the sight of the thestrals. Parvati had said they were unlucky… in a way, maybe he believed it now. They had definitely carried him to misfortune last spring.  
  
After a while, Ron and Hermione jumped into the carriage, and they waited for their turn to begin the long amble up to the castle.  
  
When the castle finally came clearly into view, Harry felt a sense of relief… and a sense of nameless dread.  
  
"I wonder who the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher is?" Neville wondered aloud. Hermione nodded.  
  
"We'll see soon enough," she said.  
  
The carriages rambled to a stop, and they followed the mass of people inside. Harry shouted "See you Hedwig!" over his shoulder as he hurried to keep up with Ron. They took their places at the Gryffindor table, and looked around expectantly.  
  
"Let's go!" Ron said. "I'm starving."  
  
"You're always starving," said Ginny sliding down next to them.  
  
"Where's your boyfriend, then?" Ron said, making a face.  
  
"Down there with his mates," she said calmly, nodding toward the other end of the table, where Seamus and Dean were laughing with some fifth year boys.  
  
Harry noticed an unusual number of faces turned toward the Gryffindor table, and realized that they were still looking for him. He forced his eyes away and scanned the top table. He tried to avoid looking at Professor Snape, whose frozen face seemed to be intentionally refusing to allow anyone eye contact. He found the new face—an older witch with steely grey hair, wearing tweedy robes. She look strangely familiar to Harry, who immediately started searching his memory, trying to place her.  
  
"I don't believe it," Hermione said, staring at the witch. "It couldn't be! Of all people!"  
  
"What?" said Ron, craning his neck for a view of the new professor.  
  
"Look! Look, don't you recognize her?" Hermione said, gesturing toward the witch.  
  
"Recognize who, Hermione?" Ron said, now practically standing on his chair.  
  
But Hermione didn't get to answer. Before she could say another word, McGonagall entered the hall, followed by a trail of first years. They looked impossibly small and nervous to Harry. McGonagall dropped the stool in the front of the room, and sat a battered old hat on it—the sorting hat.  
  
All talk in the hall hushed, and every head turned away from Harry and toward the front of the room. A wide rip in the hat's brim opened, and it began to sing.  
  
"It's been a thousand years or more  
  
Since Hufflepuff last spoke,  
  
Or Ravenclaw did tell a tale,  
  
Or Gryffindor a joke.  
  
And Slytherin, 'tis sad to say,  
  
Has said nary a word  
  
For going on ten centuries,  
  
Or at least, so I've heard.  
  
But once upon another time,  
  
These four, they were the best.  
  
They turned their thoughts, most nobly,  
  
To teaching all the rest.  
  
They used their powers collectively,  
  
Their single dedication:  
  
The founding of a wondrous school  
  
For magical education.  
  
Four houses were established,  
  
A different one for each,  
  
To house the students that that one  
  
Did most want to teach.  
  
Hufflepuff most valued those  
  
Who prized good, honest labor.  
  
The clever and the quick-of-wit  
  
Did Ravenclaw most favor.  
  
To teach the brave and loyal ones  
  
Was Griffindor's sole mission,  
  
And Slytherin sought out those youths  
  
With minds full of ambition.  
  
But one day they'd be gone, they knew,  
  
And then who left would know  
  
To which house each young one that came  
  
Truly ought to go?  
  
Brave Gryffindor, he thought it out,  
  
And had this revolution:  
  
"We'll make this hat a magic-hat,  
  
that will be our solution!"  
  
And so that's how I came to be:  
  
The Sorting Hat am I,  
  
No other hats can match my brains,  
  
No matter how they try.  
  
So come on over, sit right down,  
  
I know where you belong!  
  
Let the sorting now begin, for  
  
Now I end my song."  
  
After the song, loud applause filled the Great Hall. "No warning this year," Harry murmured to Ron.  
  
"D'you reckon it thinks the danger's past?" Ron asked. Harry just shrugged.  
  
McGonagall cleared her throat, and the murmuring in the hall died down. "When I call your name, you will come forward to be sorted into your houses. Adams, Peter!"  
  
A rather tall boy with mousy hair sat on the stool.  
  
"Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted. Applause echoed from the Hufflepuff table, and Peter Adams ran to join them.  
  
"Archer, Angela!"  
  
This was a short girl with dark eyes and bright orange hair. "Hufflepuff!" the hat announced again.  
  
"Broadgain, Allyssa!"  
  
"Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor table exploded with applause as Allyssa, a very pale, willowy girl, sat down at the end.  
  
The sorting went on for some time. Harry got very fidgety around the Ls, and by the time "Moriarty, Maryanne!" became a Ravenclaw, he was almost totally disinterested. He nudged Ron.  
  
"Does she look familiar to you?" he said, nodding toward the new teacher.  
  
"Who, the first year?" Ron squinted at Pearce, Gretchen ("Slytherin!" bellowed the hat).  
  
"No, the new teacher," Harry said, discretely pointing.  
  
"Oh, her. Now that you mention it, yeah. Who is that?" Ron said, frowning.  
  
Harry shook his head. "Don't know. Wish I did."  
  
Finally, Yeats, Michael became a Gryffindor, and the hall echoed with loud applause. Harry and Ron grabbed their forks in anticipation.  
  
Dumbledore stood, and raised his hands to the Great Hall. "Let the feast begin!" he said. Food blossomed on the plates to general cheering from the students, and wonder from the first years.  
  
Harry heaped his plate with roast beef, mashed potatoes, fresh bread and strawberry jam, corn on the cob, and plenty of gravy. Ron was eating so quickly that Harry worried he might get sick, and even Hermione seemed to be eating very quickly. Next came pudding, and Harry heaped his plate once again. Finally, he was so full and sleepy that he could hardly sit still.  
  
Dumbledore stood. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give, and, as they are particularly important with the current situation, I ask that you all pay attention. Quidditch trials will be held in the third week of classes. First years should note that the Forest is out of bounds to students, and magic is strictly forbidden in the corridors between classes. Mr. Filch has asked me to inform you that the list of items banned on school grounds has been updated to include Weasley's Portable Swamps, Weasley's Whizbang Firecrackers, Weasley's Evolving Fluffblasters, Weasley's… actually, most of the Weasley inventory," Dumbledore chuckled. "The full list may be found posted outside Mr. Filch's office.  
  
"Due to current events, I must press upon all of you the importance of remaining on grounds at all times. Only students in third year and above are allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade. While you are all perfectly safe here at Hogwarts, the world beyond our borders is more uncertain. Any student that goes out-of-bounds this term will be risking more than detention—he will be risking his own life."  
  
There was a hushed murmur at this, as everyone exchanged worried glances. Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head slightly.  
  
"On that note, I would like to introduce our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Tonks."  
  
"TONKS?" said Harry and Ron together. Of course! Last Christmas, Tonks had escorted them on the Knight Bus wearing that face.  
  
She stood up, bowed severely and sat back down. The applause was rather smattered through the audience; evidently people were worried that this severe-looking witch would turn out to be another Umbridge. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron all had to stifle laughs as they applauded hard. Tonks knocked over her goblet, sending a puddle of pumpkin juice across the table. McGonagall dropped her head in her hands as Flitwick vanished away the mess. Hagrid patted Tonks's arm.  
  
Finally, Dumbledore smiled. "So, now that we all have full bellies, let's be off to bed!"  
  
There was a lot of cheerful talking as everyone filtered out of the Great Hall. Harry asked Hermione the password as she ran over to help escort the first years.  
  
"Higgledy-Piggledy!" she murmured. "See you in the common room."  
  
Harry walked with Neville and managed to remind him about the trick step on the big staircase just in time. They headed up to the common room, and Harry, whose eyes were drooping with sleep, went on up to the dormitory without stopping. He changed into his pajamas.  
  
"Hey, Harry!" Dean called from behind his bed-hangings. "Glad you're not dead!"  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, and lay down. He pulled his own hangings closed and fell asleep. 


	8. Wraiths and the New Professor

******Author's Note:  
  
The response to my plea for reviews was overwhelming. Thanks everyone! I promise not to beg anymore, or to threaten to quit writing. You've really made my day. Your comments… guesses… suggestions… and criticisms really make a lot of difference. My responses this time ran a bit long, so I've moved them to the bottom of the chapter to avoid header-clutter.  
  
In your honor, I offer you this Two-for-one Week! Yes, that's right! An update on Wednesday, and you must only wait 3 days for Saturday's update! Yahoo! And Saturday's will be a DOOZY! They've got potions class, and wait'll you see what happens with--*cough* sorry, nearly gave something away.  
  
In response to the response to the "Glad you're not dead," comment: That was a bit of good-natured ribbing! It was Dean that said it. I imagine Dean either knew for sure (from talking to Ginny) or strongly suspected that Harry was still alive. So, it'd be just like him, with his easy-going, smoothing-things-over ways to tease Harry in a friendly way, right? RIGHT??  
  
Once again, enjoy this chapter. I enjoyed writing a bit about their classes, one of my favorite parts of Harry Potter. :)  
  
  
  
'Til next time,  
  
neoepiphany******  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Wraiths and the New Professor  
  
People were still equally eager to see Harry the next morning. A crowd formed around him as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He spent such a long time greeting other Gryffindors and shaking hands that by the time he was able to break away, breakfast was nearly over.  
  
Hermione yawned widely as Harry sat down. "Morning," she said. She wasn't eating, but leaning on her hand and dozing.  
  
"What's with you?" Harry asked.  
  
"She was up all night," Ron said. "Some first years in the girls' dormitory."  
  
"Homesick," Hermione frowned. "Up all night crying. Those new twins." She nodded toward two tiny fair-haired girls who were poking their porridge dismally. "Flora and Fauna Brandywine. What kind of cruel people would you have to be to name your children Flora and Fauna?" Hermione said, shaking her head slightly.  
  
Ron shrugged, shoveling sausages into his mouth. "Same kind that would call their son Draco."  
  
A sudden fluttering and screeching announced the arrival of the morning mail. Harry watched as owl after owl dropped parcels of forgotten items into the laps of students all over the hall. Neville, whose memory hadn't improved at all, received a particularly large package, and as soon as he received it, he jumped out of his chair and ran out of the hall, a relieved expression on his face. A large tawny owl dropped Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. As she fished sleepily in her pockets for a few knuts, Harry quickly scanned the paper.  
  
To his surprise, he spotted himself on the front page. There was a large photo, clearly taken yesterday on Platform 9 ¾. His photographic self was talking to Neville and holding Hedwig's cage, his back mostly turned toward the camera.  
  
"Geez, Harry," Ron said. "Can't we have a solid week without you making the papers?" Harry scowled at him, but Ron was clearly only teasing in a good natured way, so he let it go. He twisted Sirius's ring around his finger under the table while he read the paper.  
  
"Harry Potter Lives!  
  
The Boy who Lived Returns to Hogwarts.  
  
Young Harry Potter, famous for having triumphed over You-Know-Who, was seen boarding the Hogwarts Express yesterday, despite rumors that he had been killed by dark wizards earlier this summer.  
  
Witches and wizards worldwide rejoiced at the news. 'I knew he wasn't dead,' said Parikrama Patil, 43. 'He's a good friend of my daughters, after all, and, well, I fancy I know him well enough to know he'd make it okay. I saw him myself, you know.'  
  
Ms. Chloe Gladwaiter, 42, of East Bartlett, noted that she too was confident that Harry Potter had survived the attack. 'Well, I heard the rumors, of course, but I never really believed them. He is the Boy who Lived, after all! It's not as if he's just some layabout teenager! No, I never doubted him for a minute.'"  
  
Harry handed the paper to Hermione. She folded it over and tucked it into her bag. "I'm too sleepy to read right now," she explained. "I'd drop right off."  
  
Suddenly, Professor McGonagall's voice rose over the hum of breakfast conversation. "Sixth Years! Sixth Years, your attention please!"  
  
The talk died down slightly around the table as the sixth years turned their heads toward McGonagall. She held a stack of papers—presumably their new schedules—which she used to gesture as she spoke. "I have heard some concerns expressed about your OWL results. In light of the… unusual circumstances surrounding last years' OWL examinations, Professor Dumbledore has asked all teachers to alter their requirements for NEWT level courses accordingly. Therefore, some teachers have lowered their minimum grade by one level, wherever their exam might have been affected by outside circumstances."  
  
"That was all of them, then," Dean muttered to Seamus and Ginny a few seats away. "Umbridge was here for them all."  
  
"That explains why you both had potions books on your schedules," Hermione said. "You must have done just well enough to get into Potions."  
  
Ron dropped his head to the table, rattling all the plates and spoons nearby. "Why me? What did I ever do to deserve Snape? If I had known, I would've stopped at an A."  
  
"You?" Harry moaned, his stomach turning. "What about me? Snape hates me. I'll probably be getting zero marks every lesson…"  
  
"It's not as bad as all that, Harry!" Hermione said. "He can't just arbitrarily fail you!"  
  
"Yes he can," Ron grumbled.  
  
"He'll kind find a way," Harry nodded, remembering the look on Snapes face last year as he knocked Harry's potion onto the floor.  
  
"Don't worry," Hermione said, a determined look in her eyes. "I'll help you outside of class if I have to—he won't fail you."  
  
McGonagall passed by and handed them their schedules.  
  
"Well, on the bright side, we have Double Care of Magical Creatures first, and then Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione smiled.  
  
"But Care of Magical Creatures is with the Slytherins," Ron pointed out.  
  
"Maybe they all failed the OWL," Hermione said encouragingly, "and it'll be just us. They always were useless in that class."  
  
After breakfast, they trooped down to Hagrid's cabin for the lesson. The class was much smaller than it had been the year before; it was mostly Gryffindors in the group. Unfortunately, Harry spotted Draco hanging around with Pansy Parkinson near the back of the crowd. The absence of Crabbe and Goyle, however, seemed to show that Hermione was at leat partially right; some of the Slytherins had failed the OWL. Everyone was staring around anxiously. Considering the kinds of dangerous monsters they had dealt with in the regular level class, they were all a little nervous about what kind of brutes Hagrid might consider NEWT standard.  
  
Hagrid greeted them all with a big smile. "I'm glad ter see yeh've all done so well on yer OWLs," he said in a cheery voice. "Now, this year, as we've moved into the NEWT levels, we're on to bigger, trickier, and more interestin' creatures." Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a glance at this. They knew that what Hagrid considered interesting, most people considered horribly terrifying. Parvati and Neville appeared to have made this connection as well.  
  
"I thought about startin' yeh off with lots of differen' creatures, but I decided that it was best ter just dive right in. We're goin' ter spend this term studyin' a very dangerous, very rare, but very interestin' group of creatures. Today we're startin' Spirit creatures."  
  
An "ooh!" of excitement escaped Hermione. The rest of the class looked baffled, however.  
  
"Now," Hagrid went on, unperturbed. "Who can tell us what Spirit creatures are? Hermione?"  
  
"They're a very rare type of creature. They have very strong magical properties, but they lack any type of physical body. Most of them can't be seen by the human eye without magical aid, and, if angered, they can be very dangerous."  
  
"Good," Hagrid said. "Five points to Gryffindor. They're also very highly regulated by the Ministry of Magic, but they're dead difficult to control. Can anyone name the three kinds of spirit creatures?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot up again, but no one else's did. Hagrid nodded toward her. "The three main groups of spirit creatures are the Benign, the Active, and the Theoretical. Benign spirit creatures don't interact with humans, but can be observed. The Active, which are more common and more dangerous, can and often do interact with wizards and muggles. The Theoretical are creatures that wizards have claimed to have discovered, but could not locate again."  
  
"That's right," Hagrid nodded, smiling. "We're going ter start with some Benign creatures, jus' as practice. Spirit creatures take some getting used to. Today we're going ter study the Common European Wraith."  
  
A few people's eyes widened in surprise. Harry's did as well—there was an ominous sound to that.  
  
Hagrid pulled a little sack out of his pocket, and, opening it up, dumped a stone about the size of Harry's fist onto the ground. It was shiny and dark, like hematite, but it was humming very faintly. "This," Hagrid explained, "is a Wraith-stone. It draws 'em closer. It starts off just as soon as yeh take it out. By now, there should be plenty of 'em around."  
  
Harry looked around. He didn't know what a wraith looked like, but he was pretty sure he didn't see any. Hermione and Neville both looked a bit pale; Hermione's eyes were darting back and forth frantically, her expression a mix between excitement and terror.  
  
"Everyone take out yer wands," Hagrid said, "and repeat after me. Manes Acclarare!"  
  
The class repeated the incantation. As soon as Harry said it, he felt bathed in chill air. The bright morning sky seemed to darken, and the color seemed to drain out of his vision.  
  
He heard a few shrieks before he understood why things seemed so colorless. Then he realized. The air was thick with indistinct, ghostly shapes moving around them very quickly. They were a sort of grayish color, and they were shaped like billowing sheets. Each one had a vague, grotesque face, as though there were a person behind it, trying to push through. They were swirling around the Wraith-stone, faster and faster, like they were being flushed into it. They moved through solid objects—Hagrid's hut, trees, even students—without resistance. One passed through Harry—he expected it to feel cold, like it did when a ghost walked through him, but he didn't feel anything at all. It was eerie.  
  
Hagrid snatched up the stone, and put it into its bag. The wraiths froze instantly as the humming stopped, and hovered in the air, looking confused and a little despondant. Most of the students were wide-eyed as they stared at the wraiths. The staring, ugly faces of the wraiths were horrible; they looked like drowned faces poking through the ice of a frozen lake.  
  
"Are those… things… always around us?" Neville asked, his voice tremulous. He dodged as a gruesome looking wraith floated through him.  
  
Hagrid nodded. "Yep. They aren' visible until yeh do the incantation. But don' let that bother yeh. Wraiths are blind. They can't see what yer doing, only sorta feel where yeh are."  
  
Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown shrieked again as a particularly large Wraith suddenly sped toward them. A Slytherin boy flattened himself on the ground.  
  
"They won' hurt yeh," Hagrid reassured them, smiling a little.  
  
"But what's the point of them?" Draco demanded. He was trying to sound cocky, but he was looking as frightened as everyone else. His eyes kept darting back and forth between the swirling wraiths.  
  
"They're a connection to another level of existence!" Hermione snapped. "They're living beings without bodies! What more could you need?"  
  
"But they don't do anything besides float around, do they?" Pansy Parkinson snapped back.  
  
Hagrid shook his head. "They're a Benign spirit. Whatever they do, it doesn' much affect us. We've seen 'em influence animals a little bit… make 'em change their mind abou' where they want ter go, an' that sorta thing, but it don' seem to do much to wizards. But that's not to say that we migh' not find out they can do somethin," he added in a menacing tone. "A lot of spirit creatures that we once thought were Benign turned out to be fighters if you bother 'em. That's why spirit creatures are very carefully regulated. Now, everyone take out your books, and read the chapter on wraiths. I want ten inches on what wraiths are useful for by next Monday." By the way Hagrid lingered on the word "useful," Harry guessed that he had just assigned the homework as payback to Draco and Pansy.   
  
"That was a really good lesson, wasn't it?" Hermione said as they lounged in the courtyard during their break some time later. They had wanted to talk to Hagrid after the lesson, but he had hurried off toward the forest. Harry had a good suspicion what he was going to do there. "Especially for Hagrid. It was really informative, wasn't it?"  
  
"Ugh, it was dead creepy. Really gave me the shivers, seeing that lot floating around," Ron said.  
  
"Can you imagine? There could be dozens of them around right now," Harry said, looking around. They weren't quite as creepy when you couldn't see them, though, and thankfully, the incantation that made the Wraiths visible seemed to wear off after a little while.  
  
"I doubt it," Hermione said. "Most Spirit creatures are pretty solitary. Humans are dangerous to them, especially wizards. The stone was the only thing that drew them last time."  
  
"How do you know all this?" Harry frowned at her. Even for Hermione, she seemed to know a lot on the subject.  
  
She smiled a little, and fiddled with her bag. "Actually, I read up on them a while ago. It was… well, in third year, when I had the time-turner. I was reading up on it, and there was a note that the wizard who invented the time turner also suggested the existence of one of the theoretical spirit creatures. I was curious, so I looked into it," she said, shrugging. "I just think this is a funny place for us to start the year. The wraiths are benign, but what if we get into Thairlings or Soul Eaters?"  
  
"Soul Eaters?" Ron said, wheeling around to face her, wide eyed.  
  
"Don't worry, it's a misnomer. They're not like dementors," she said dismissively. "They don't actually suck your soul out. Mind you, they are rather like a dementor's second cousin. Rather than sucking out your soul, they kind of infest it, like a parasite—"  
  
"Stop now, Hermione," Harry said. "You're going to make me sick." A lot of the other sixth years, most of whom hadn't already been in Care of Magical Creatures, had turned to look at them. There were a lot of nervous glances. "Anyway," Harry added in a whisper, "knowing Hagrid, the more dangerous it is, the more likely we are to do it."  
  
"They have a lot of possibility, though, Spirit creatures," Hermione said, thoughtfully. "There are quite a lot of them that can interact with wizards. If we could convince them to help us fight against Voldemort, we'd have a really powerful ally."  
  
"Better than the giants," Ron nodded. "Especially if they're invisible and can float right through walls like that."  
  
Hermione smiled at Ron. "Exactly, Ron. They'd be better than ghosts, even. Actually, there's a possibility that Hagrid is teaching us about them now for that very reason. If Dumbledore were to convince some of them to be our allies, then knowing more about them would be essential."  
  
"Yeah, but then why'd he be teaching the Slytherins too? If they know, then if they join Voldemort, they could warn him," Harry pointed out.  
  
"Possibly," Hermione said, fiddling with her bag again. "But I still think that's probably the answer."   
  
"We'd better get going," Harry said, peeking at his watch. "I want to get to class a bit early and tell Tonks good luck." Hermione and Ron both agreed, so they set off for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  
  
To their surprise, even though class wasn't set to start for another ten minutes, the room was already full. Everyone was murmuring about the new teacher. Tonks herself, restored to her normal heart-shaped face and short spiky hair (bright purple), had forsaken the muggle clothes Harry was used to seeing her in, and was instead wearing artfully faded robes in the same color as her hair. She was sitting on top of her desk, swinging her legs over the edge.  
  
"Wotcher, Harry, Ron, Hermione," she murmured with a wink. "Don't give me away just yet, okay?" They nodded, grinning, and took their seats.  
  
"I wonder what she'll be like," Seamus was murmuring to Dean. "I heard she was appointed by the ministry."  
  
"I hope it won't be another Umbridge," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Nah, couldn't be," Neville piped in. "The Ministry's admitted they were wrong now, haven't they? But did you see her? She looked like my gran. I hope she's not that strict."  
  
Harry and Ron exchanged a smirk.  
  
Lavender and Parvati were peering at Tonks. "Who does she think she is, sitting there like that? When that teacher woman gets here, she's going to be in trouble, all right," Parvati muttered.  
  
"Does she look like a seventh year to you? And why's she out of uniform?" Lavender said, frowning.  
  
Tonks peered at her wristwatch. "Let's get to it," she said, jumping off the desk. A few people looked at her, confused.   
  
"B-But you're not—I mean—" sputtered Neville.  
  
"Who are you?" demanded Parvati, frowning.  
  
"Glad you asked. I'm your new professor—Tonks," she said, grinning.  
  
"How old are you?" Lavender demanded, her eybrows raised. "You're only… what, eighteen or so?"  
  
"I'm a bit older than that," Tonks shrugged, "but I am a fully trained Ministry Auror."  
  
A few people raised their eyebrows, impressed or surprised. It was hard to tell which.  
  
"You're not the same person as yesterday," one girl suggested, suspicious.  
  
"I am," she said, grinning. "I just wore my more teacherly appearance yesterday. Thought it was best to give you the kind of look you were expecting."  
  
"What?" Seamus asked. "Was that a wig or something?"  
  
"No, I'm a metamorphmagus. I can change my appearance at well. Very handy for stealth. Observe," she said, jumping off the desk.  
  
She stood before them, and screwed up her face in concentration. Suddenly, her spiky purple hair sprouted into a mane of blond curls, not unlike Mira's. There was an impressed "Oooh!" from the class. She concentrated again, and it became a short crop of sleek raven hair. Now, most everyone was staring openmouthed, not unlike the way they watched Professor McGonagall turn into a cat. Hermione, however, seemed to be fighting giggles, and even Harry couldn't help but smile. Tonks moved on to various other facial features, making herself look truly bizarre in the process.  
  
The demonstration finished, and Tonks returned her hair to its original spiky purple. Most people looked impressed, but a handful still looked a bit skeptical. Tonks raised her eyebrows. "Any other questions?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," said Hermione. Harry and Ron both looked at her, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Go ahead, Hermi—er, I mean, Miss Granger," said Tonks. She hefted herself back up onto the desk. There was a loud crash, and the class erupted into giggles as Tonks jumped back up, the back of her robes covered with black ink. She had sat on her inkwell. "Oh devilment," she muttered, and flicked her wand, vanishing the spreading ink. "Go ahead."  
  
Hermione smiled apologetically before she spoke. "You're an auror. With all the dark wizards running loose, and attacks happening every few weeks now, why would they send you here? Don't they need you out there?" There were a few nods around the room.  
  
Tonks actually blushed. The pink flush creeping across her pale, heart-shaped face made her look a bit like a badly made Valentine. "The thing is… er, I'm a bit of a butterfingers. I had a bit of trouble, and… well, the Ministry thought that, for now, I would be most valuable here, teaching you how to protect yourselves."  
  
Harry and Ron grinned at each other discreetly. Harry could imagine what had happened. Tonks had probably been on a mission, tracking down Death Eaters, and, just as she closed in on them, knocked something over. Harry could almost see the scattering Death Eaters, the withering looks of the other Aurors, and Tonks's face as she said "Oops?" He bit his lip to keep from laughing.  
  
"Anyway," Tonks went on, "I don't think there's too much point in impressing on you how important these lessons are. After last year's little fiasco, you're way behind, and the way things are at the moment… well, self-defense is pretty important, you know. So, I think we ought to start with dueling. Take out your wands, please, and everyone stand up." Tonks jumped off the desk, and, with a swish of her wand, the desks rose over their heads and flew to the sides of the room. Unlike when Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick did it, however, the desks did not stack themselves in tidy rows. Rather, they banged together loudly, and fell in tangled heaps along the walls.  
  
"Now, I know that you already know the Shield charm, the Disarming charm, and some other rather useful little tidbits, but I think today we'll practice the Reversal Jinx," she said, brandishing her wand. "This is a very tricky, but very useful little spell. When you are attacked--" (Harry couldn't help noticing that she said "when" rather than "if") "--then you can use this spell to reverse the effects of jinxes that your opponent throws at you. You have to be extremely careful, though! Not only do you have to know what spell your enemy is going to use, you have to understand the precise effects. It's not pretty if you reverse what you think is going to be the Jelly-legs curse, and it turns out to be the Tickling curse."  
  
Harry cringed. He didn't know exactly what the opposite effects of the tickling curse might be, but it didn't sound pleasant.  
  
"Also, bear in mind that you should never use this Jinx against the Killing curse. No one knows exactly what the effects would be, and I don't think you'd want to be the one to find out," Tonks went on, wiggling her eyebrows. "Now, let's practice the incantation without wands, shall we? This is the wand movement," she said, demonstrating the quick swish. "Reversio!"  
  
"Reversio," the class repeated dutifully.  
  
"Good," Tonks said. "Now, let's give it a try. Who wants to go first? Harry, fancy a go?"  
  
Harry sighed inwardly. Somehow, he'd known that she'd call on him. He walked to the front of the room, and faced Tonks.  
  
"Now, I'll curse you, and you just reverse the spell, okay? I'll start with a nice easy one" she said, smiling. Harry just nodded. Knowing what a klutz Tonks was, he was a little nervous about being her guinea pig.  
  
"Ready? Tarantallegra!" she shouted.  
  
"Reversio!" Harry shouted, swishing his wand in front of him. Rather than his legs suddenly dancing of their own accord, Harry felt suddenly very stable and well grounded. He was sure that no matter how far he leaned, he wouldn't fall.  
  
"Excellent, Harry!" Tonks said, pleased. "Now, who's next?"  
  
Tonks cast a variety of curses at the class, and almost everyone managed to at least lessen the effects. (Neville missed on the first try an got hit by the Twitchy Ears Curse, and Parvati messed up the wand movement, so the Tripping Jinx that Tonks had sent at her made her flip upside down. It took three people to get her righted again, and her robes kept trying to fly up over her head.) Ron had reversed a Memory charm, so he was immersed in his own memories, which, he murmured to Harry, had become unusually acute.  
  
"It's like watching my own life happening over again. I can remember everything—I can remember being a baby, I can remember the names of every person I've ever met—I even remember what Binns said in our last History of Magic class before the OWLs," Ron said, pleased. He frowned, suddenly. "Wish someone'd taught us this last year. We could've cast memory charms on each other and not had to study at all!"  
  
The class was punctuated by squeals and shouts as Tonks's curses alternately hit their victims, or had bizarre effects in the reverse. At one point, Seamus turned into a hedgehog, and Tonks worried that she'd have to fetch Professor McGonagall to reverse the effects. Fortunately, Hermione was able to set him right again. Once they'd all successfully managed to reverse a simple curse, Tonks flicked her wand, and the desks moved back out into the room, where they arranged themselves in crooked rows. "Now, I'm going to give you a list of curses that you should never, ever, ever, ever, ever reverse, no matter what. I'd suggest you write it down..." They spent the rest of the lesson taking down lists of spells. When the bell finally rang, they stood up to go, everyone grinning.  
  
"Before you go—" Tonks shouted over the din of students gathering their things, "—I just wanted you to know that if anyone should want to have… I don't know, study groups or something, well, that wouldn't bother me at all. In fact, I'd encourage it."  
  
The Gryffindors looked around at each other, smiling. It looked like Dumbledore's Army would be re-forming.  
  
*****************  
  
Reference for Spirit creatures: OotP, Chapter 7 ("The Ministry of Magic.") Spoken by the elevator: "'Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisons.'"  
  
Reviewer Responses!  
  
Szihuoko: I won't say for sure whether there's something actually *wrong* with the ring, but don't worry—I'm taking care to keep things (in general) well within the realms of believability. I'm going to great lengths to follow JK Rowling's patterns of laying all those little hints inside the text for you to find, so that at the very end you say, "Ooooh, of course! Why didn't I see it before?" Hopefully, that will keep things from getting unbelievable. Alas, no Harry-Cho ship in this story. I think that was pretty much over at the end of the fifth book. Harry seemed to have lost his interest. Cho just popped by the car to say she was glad he wasn't dead; you might have noticed they seemed pretty business-like about the whole conversation? (I was never a Harry/Cho shipper either. I am a Harry/somebody shipper, but I honestly doubt even that will manifest in this particular fic. Sorry!) Do keep the theories and the advice coming. Especially the advice.  
  
Wynjara: Bear with me! All will be revealed in time! Mwahaha! I promise that by the end of the story, you'll know all you need to know about both things.  
  
Queen Cari: Thank you very much. ^_^ I'm glad you liked the Hat. I was pretty proud of it myself.  
  
Iniysa: Thanks! Don't worry, I won't stop writing.  
  
Wiccan Pussy Kat: Thanks! Especially thanks for liking the Sorting Song. Yep, not a H/G shipper. Although I think the two of them have some kind of potential, I'd be very disappointed if anything ever came of it. Does that make sense?  
  
As to your observations about Mira… well, there's a lot I'd like to say in response… but, well, right now there are three mysteries we're supposed to be pondering. (For those playing at home: 1) How did the death eaters get onto Privet Drive? 2) What's up with Mira? And 3) What's up with that ring?) Since Mira is one of those mysteries, I don't want to say anything much… But, I will say this: you have some astute observations in there. And you think she's evil, huh? Interesting…  
  
mpe: An excellent question. We'll have to wait and see how that plays out.  
  
Rathien1: *grin* Yeah, that was a bit of goodnatured ribbing. Chuckles all around sort of thing.  
  
Scorpion Lord: I can't say how many chapters I'm planning, because I honestly don't know. I have the story all planned, but I don't know how many chapters it will take to actually get it on paper. Sometimes something that I think will take only a few pages ends up requiring its own chapter. What started as a little fic has rapidly turned into a novel of Goblet of Fire proportions…   
  
I'm glad you like Tonks as the DADA teacher! I wouldn't say this particular lesson was hilarious, but stay tuned. *wink wink* Wish I could hear your suspicions about the ring! (Mwahaha!) I hope this early post keeps you from imploding. :) And you're right about not pleading for reviews anymore. I won't do it from now on, promise. Of course, that's not to say people can't review. 


	9. The Potions Master's Wrath

****Author's note: Thanks again, everyone for the kind reviews and notes of encouragement. Here is the regular update. Next week's update might be a bit delayed, as I have some big stuff this week at school, but hopefully we'll stay on track. Unfortunately, as it gets closer to Christmas, the updates may get a bit more irregular. I'm going home for the holiday, and that's going to throw my schedule generally out of whack. On the bright side, the 14 hour plane ride should be a good opportunity to get some writing done. ^_^  
  
As a special gift to you visual learners out there, I did a drawing of Mira. It, and some of my other fanart, may be found at http://www.tokkiproject.com/~neoepiphany  
  
Enjoy Chapter nine! See you next time. Neoepiphany*******  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
The Potions Master's Wrath  
  
By their Charms lesson that afternoon, Harry had noticed a trend in their lessons. Flitwick, just like Hagrid and Tonks, began the class by announcing that, in light of current circumstances, he was going to be starting them off with something trickier than he usually began his NEWT level class with. He started them off on barrier magic, and they spent most of the class drawing gender lines around the floor. Most of them weren't very powerful; when Lavender tried to cross Neville's, she made it across without suffering anything worse than a bit of static electricity. Hermione's line, on the other hand, repelled Ron with such force that he flew across the classroom and knocked over a cabinet. Once again, Flitwick praised Hermione's excellent work. When the class finally ended, Gryffindor had gained ten points on account of Hermione and, surprisingly, Seamus's skill with gender barriers.  
  
Hermione had History of Magic that afternoon, but Harry and Ron had decided not to continue that particular subject. That meant that they had the afternoon free.  
  
"You ought to do something useful then—get a head start on your homework, or else do some research and try and figure out how those Death Eaters got at you this summer, Harry," Hermione suggested as they walked out of class.  
  
"Come on, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "It's the first day of classes!"  
  
"Do you have something better to do then?" Hermione asked in an annoyed sort of voice.  
  
Harry and Ron both nodded. "Quidditch," they said as one.  
  
So, while Hermione took notes and fought against the soporific effects of Professor Binns's monotonous drone, Harry and Ron had a spirited practice game of quidditch. The weather couldn't have been more perfect—it was warm, but not too hot, and the sky was cloudless and blue. The pitch was free since practices hadn't started yet, what with trials still being a ways off.  
  
They borrowed a spare practice quaffle from Madame Hooch, to whose office Harry, as captain, now had the password. As soon as he mounted his broom, Harry felt a sensation of relief overwhelm him. He hadn't played quidditch, or even flown, in such a long time; it was like relaxing a muscle that had been tensed for ages. He took a few laps around the pitch, zipping in and out of the stands and the hoops, doing tricks and rolls, diving and pulling up at the very last second. Ron whooped and cheered, chasing after Harry, although he couldn't begin to keep up with Harry's Firebolt while on a Cleansweep. Finally, they grabbed the ball and began the game. Harry played chaser, and Ron took his position as keeper. Despite his lack of practice, Ron did a good job defending the hoops from Harry. Harry tried every trick he'd ever seen Alicia, Angelina, and Katie try, but only two got past Ron.  
  
"You're really great, Ron," he said, as they packed up their stuff. "I just hope that we can get some decent chasers."  
  
"Yeah, because our beaters are horrible," Ron said.  
  
Harry groaned. "I'd forgotten about them," he said. "Maybe they spent the summer practicing?" Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke had taken over for the Weasley twins the previous year, and had been terribly inept at their positions.  
  
"Kirke and Sloper? Even a year's solid practice wouldn't help those idiots very much. Can't you just make them re-try out? You know, reopen the positions?"  
  
"I can't just chuck them off the team, no matter how much I want to," Harry frowned. "And if I make them retry for their positions, then we'll all have to retry, just to be fair."  
  
They headed back to the castle, and met Hermione in the Entrance Hall. "I was just coming to get you," she said. "Dinner's almost over—if you hurry, you might be able to grab a plateful."  
  
They managed to scavenge some food from the scant leftovers on the table. The first day of classes seemed to have given everyone a substantial appetite, and only bones and crumbs remained of most of the dishes. They kept discussing quidditch, constantly talking about who might be good in what position and theorizing on ways to get Sloper and Kirke to quit. Ron suggested hitting them both with some particularly nasty curses while the Slytherins were around, but, although he might like the chance to frame Malfoy, Harry didn't think this was necessarily the best course of action.  
  
Finally, they headed off to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was working on their Care of Magical Creatures essay, and had already written what looked like well over the required ten inches.  
  
"Take it easy, Hermione," Ron said, looking over her shoulder. "If you don't quit soon, you'll have written an entire novel on the subject."  
  
"I don't think Hagrid meant the homework to be taken that seriously, anyway," Harry said, also peering at Hermione's parchment. "He only assigned it to get back at the Slytherins, didn't he?"  
  
"I always take my homework seriously, thank you," Hermione sniffed.  
  
So, while Hermione kept adding to the essay, Harry got the miniature quidditch team that Ginny had bought him for his birthday, and he and Ron got to work teaching the tiny figures quidditch moves. Harry rather suspected this would be an easier way to explain things to the team than Oliver and Angelina's chalkboards covered in little x's. Still, the entire time that he was coaxing the miniature beaters into performing the Cross-Bat Block, in the back of his mind, the confrontation with Kirke and Sloper was looming over him.  
  
In the end, he needn't have worried. About the time that Harry had nearly summoned up his courage to go and find them, he heard a nervous little cough behind him. Harry turned around to find Jack Sloper.  
  
"Hi," Harry said. "Come to ask about practice?" He mentally cursed this statement as soon as he had said it.  
  
Sloper looked a little nervous. "Well, sort of. Congratulations on getting captain and all, Harry. Er… look, the thing is… I don't want to play any more."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"  
  
"Well—it's not that I don't want to play—because I do, you know," Sloper stammered. "It's just that… well…" His cheeks were flushing a brilliant red. "See, my parents are muggles… and, er… they'd never seen quidditch before, and I brought them a book about it this summer, and, er…" He suddenly sped up, as if trying to finish speaking as quickly as possible. "They thought it looked a bit dangerous and asked me not to play this year and I'm really sorry." He cleared his throat.  
  
Harry frowned. "You're quitting the team?"  
  
"I'm really sorry," Sloper repeated.  
  
"Well, we're sorry to see you go, but best of luck in your future endeavors," Ron said, jumping up to shake Sloper's hand.  
  
"Yeah, no hard feelings," Harry said, grinning. "I understand totally. Don't worry."  
  
"Really?" Sloper said as Ron pumped his hand enthusiastically.  
  
"Sure, no problem," Harry said.  
  
"Thanks a bunch. I really appreciate it—thanks," Sloper said, walking away.  
  
Harry and Ron sat back down. "Can you believe the luck?" Harry said.  
  
"One down, one to go," Ron said. They returned to the model team, but before they had gotten very far, there was another little cough from behind Harry. Without looking up, Ron mouthed the word "Kirke."  
  
Harry turned around. "Hello. How was your summer?"  
  
"Fine," Andrew Kirke said, grinning. "Look—Ginny told me you're the new captain, and I need to ask you something."  
  
Harry tried to keep his feelings of hopefulness from appearing on his face. "Oh?"  
  
"I only signed on as a beater because I really wanted to play, you know," Kirke said. "I know I'm not any good. I've always really wanted to play chaser."  
  
"Oh. So you want to—"  
  
"To switch to chaser," Kirke finished.  
  
Harry frowned again, looking rather sternly at Kirke. "I can't let you just change," he said finally. "I've never seen you play as chaser before, have I? You'll have to try out."  
  
Kirke nodded. "I expected it. So you'll find a new beater?"  
  
"Sure," Harry grinned. "Best of luck to you. Tryouts are two weeks from tomorrow, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Kirke said.  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other happily. Harry felt as though Christmas had come early. He'd gotten rid of the beaters, and he hadn't even had to jinx them. "What were the odds of that happening?" Harry asked, shaking his head.  
  
"Right up there with You-know-who sending you a bouquet of daisies, I'd say," Ron said. "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest guy I know."  
  
Harry shook his head. At the moment, he was feeling pretty lucky indeed.  
  
The next morning, however, with the prospect of Potions class coming up, Harry was feeling decidedly less lucky. Their first class of the day was Herbology, and not even a double period. Despite the rather nasty smell eminating from the Spiny Knotbush they were pruning, Harry found himself pleading that time would slow down. It was to no avail, however, and the end of class came all too quickly. There was a half-hour break after the lesson, which they spent watching Peeves pelt first-years with dungbombs, Filch chasing after them shouting. Then, it was double Potions with the Slytherins.  
  
"I bet Snape starts us off with the worst potion he can think of," Ron said glumly as they walked down to the dungeons. "Remember the fiddly potion he gave us last year?"  
  
Harry nodded. He'd messed up that potion and ended up with extra homework. He silently vowed not to make a single mistake today. "I just hope he breaks with tradition," Harry said. Hermione and Ron both looked at him with confused expressions. "Every single teacher so far has tried to give us something impossible to start with," he explained. "'In light of the current situation' and all that. Come on, you must've noticed!"  
  
The three of them took their seats. At last, Snape burst into the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him. Snape looked more like an overgrown bat than he ever had. He stood in front of the room with a cold, wrathful expression on his face. He scanned the students in silence for a few moments, his eyes lingering on each face for several seconds, except for Harry's, which he skipped over. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"So," he said, steepling his fingers, "so. We have pared down our number. We have managed to rid ourselves of most of the idiots and useless dunderheads in our midst." His eyes flicked toward the seat previously occupied by Neville. "On a normal year, I would be welcoming you all with open arms, as the best of the best; but, alas, this year, a few of the less… talented… of our number have failed to leave us." His eyes moved to a point directly above Harry's head. "I would never criticize the Headmaster's decisions, but lowering my standards for the NEWT class has permitted in certain students whose abilities are… abysmal. How they managed to scrape even an A without cheating is beyond me." Now, his eyes flicked toward Hermione, who immediately went red. Harry and Ron both opened their mouths to say something, but Hermione, who was sitting between them, poked them in the ribs. Harry closed his mouth, but continued to stare at Snape with utmost loathing. Most of the Slytherins were giggling. Harry could just make out Draco from the corner of his eye—staring at him with an infuriating grin.  
  
"But, let us not dwell on our misfortune," Snape went on. "Today we will begin one of the most difficult potions of the wizarding world. It is, however, also one of the most useful in the art of disguises and stealth—the Polyjuice Potion." Harry inhaled sharply, and Hermione jabbed him in the ribs again. "It will take us a month to prepare, and at the conclusion of the lessons, you will each drink your potion. For that reason," his eyes returned to the spot above Harry's head, "I would advise you to try not to botch it too badly. You will be working in pairs. Anyone who ruins theirs today, of course, will receive a month's worth of zero marks. Instructions for the day are on the board and ingredients are in the cabinet." With a flick of his wand, the instructions appeared and the cabinet door popped open.  
  
Ron looked over at Harry and Hermione, grinning. "We lucked out a bit, didn't we?" he said. They stood and began shuffling their cauldrons around as the rest of the class partnered off.  
  
"Do at least pretend not to know the potion, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We've never done it before, remember?"  
  
"Of course, Hermione," Ron said in mock exasperation.  
  
"Did you hear him about making us drink it? I bet you anything he's hoping to poison me," Harry said glumly.  
  
"Well, he won't manage it will he? You'll do just fine with this potion," Hermione said. "And just to make sure, you'll partner with me."  
  
"I will?" Harry said.  
  
Hermione sighed. "You don't have to, of course. But I thought—"  
  
"It's okay, Hermione," he said. "Of course I'll partner with you."  
  
Ron's face fell slightly. "What about me?" he asked. "I always partner with Harry."  
  
"Parvati's free," said Hermione, nodding across the room. "I'd go offer to partner with her before one of the Slytherins does it."  
  
Ron gave her a hurt look before grabbing his cauldron and darting across the dungeon toward Parvati.  
  
"I'll just go get our ingredients," Harry said. The line was already pretty long, but Harry didn't mind waiting. He stood there, scanning the instructions and absently twirling Sirius's ring on his finger.  
  
"Push off, Potty," said a drawling voice as Draco pushed in front of Harry. He turned around, smiling in his sneering way. "Fancy seeing you here. I wouldn't have thought you'd have made it." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Remedial potions, after all. But I expect you had a little outside help," Draco added flicking his eyes toward Hermione.  
  
"I did it on my own, thanks," Harry snapped.  
  
"Oh yes, I forgot. Perfect Potty would never cheat, would he?"  
  
"Tell me, Draco," Harry said in an icy tone. "Had Defense against the Dark Arts yet?"  
  
Draco looked a little startled. The student in front of him moved away from the cabinet, and he took the opportunity to turn away from Harry and rummage through the potions bottles. "Yes," he said suspiciously.  
  
"What did you think of the new teacher?" Harry asked, now adopting a sugary tone.  
  
Draco half-turned, looking at Harry over his shoulder and holding an over-large jar of leeches. "What, is she another friend of yours Potty? Wouldn't surprise me—the company you keep. I think she's an idiot mudblood who couldn't charm the cheese out of a goat. If she's an auror, then I'm Weasley's little brother."  
  
"Really?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "That's very interesting, Draco. Especially since she's not only one of the aurors that helped put your Dad in Azkaban, she's also your cousin."  
  
It was funny how the room seemed to become silent in the split seconds before the jar hit the ground. The crashing of the glass seemed amplified in the dungeon, as did the squelching as leeches rolled and flopped in every direction. A few people shrieked as the leech juice sloshed over their shoes. Draco's hand plunged into his robes, and Harry reached into his own pocket for his wand, but suddenly, Snape was standing over them, laying a restraining hand on Draco's elbow.  
  
"Potter," Snape said, scanning the mess on the floor. He looked into Harry's eyes with an air of grim satisfaction. "On the very first lesson as well. Ten points from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry felt a surge of anger rise up in his stomach. "But—but—Professor, I didn't—" he protested.  
  
"Twenty points," Snape said. "And if you open your mouth to utter another syllable for the remainder of this lesson, it will be fifty points and a week's worth of detentions. Take your ingredients and sit down."  
  
In what should have been an award-winning act of self-control, Harry made his way back toward Hermione, clutching a bottle of lacewing flies so hard that the glass was creaking in his grip. Hermione, meanwhile, was staring at Snape with a look of fierce concentration. She didn't look up until Harry dropped the jar noisily in front of her.  
  
"That was really unfair of him, Harry," Hermione said, standing up. She conjured some little blue flames for the cauldron, and began adding ingredients. "What did you say to Malfoy? No, don't tell me—I don't want you to get in trouble. Hand me that jar, there? Snape's really gone too far this time—that was clearly all Malfoy's fault." She stirred the lacewing flies thoughtfully. "Of course, you really do need to mind your temper—"  
  
But she fell silent at the look on Harry's face.  
  
They worked on the potion for the rest of the class. Hermione did most of the work, with Harry more or less just handing her whatever needed to be added. He was far too angry to concentrate on something as delicate and fiddly as the Polyjuice potion. He managed to make it through the entire class with saying a thing, a feat which only increased the sense of rage boiling inside him.  
  
Finally, the class was nearly over. Snape walked around giving marks to each of the pairs. He lingered over their cauldron for a long moment, and Harry felt rather pleased. Their potion was perfect; Harry knew it was the best one in the room. But Snape's little smile as he looked up caused another lurch in Harry's stomach.  
  
"Full points to Miss Granger," he said coldly. "But you, Potter—you haven't touched the potion for the whole of the lesson. If you want marks in this classroom, I recommend you do the work. No points."  
  
Harry was nearly shaking with rage as they left the class. Once they were safely away from the dungeons, he let out the yell he'd been containing all through the lesson.  
  
Ron rubbed his ear. "Next time you feel the need to shout like that, Harry, do us a favor and warn us," he said.   
  
"He'll do anything to take away points from Gryffindor—from me," Harry fumed. "And to give me zero marks in every lesson. And he's hoping to poison me."  
  
"Yeah, but what can you do about it?" Ron said. "You've got to take the class…"  
  
"No I don't," Harry said quietly.  
  
"But McGonagall said—"  
  
"That I ought to take it to be an auror. Fine. I won't be an auror."  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry. "But I thought that was what you wanted to—"  
  
Harry swung his bag onto his other arm. "It was. But if that means I have to put up with two more years of Snape, forget it. No way. I'd rather face the Death Eaters again," Harry grumbled.  
  
"Harry—you can't be serious," Ron insisted.  
  
"I am. I'm going to talk to McGonagall right after Transfiguration."  
  
Ron looked annoyed. Harry rather suspected he didn't want to be left alone in the class.  
  
"Hermione," Ron said, nudging her, "you talk some sense into him. Tell him he can't drop potions."  
  
Hermione, however, had her brow furrowed in concentration. "Since when has Snape worn an earring?" she said finally.  
  
Harry cast a sideways look at her. "What difference does it make, Hermione?" he asked.  
  
Ron was giving her a look of disgust. "How, Hermione—tell me how during that class—how all you managed to get out of it was Snape's new jewelry?"  
  
Hermione scowled. "Don't the two of you ever notice things? It's not just Snape. McGonagall had on that silver necklace at the feast—since when does she wear jewelry either? And I noticed over the summer that Bill had stopped wearing his dragon tooth and started wearing a silver earring instead."  
  
"So silver jewelry is popular at the moment," Ron said. "So what?"  
  
"Well, don't you think it might have something to do with fighting Voldemort?" Hermione snapped at him. A group of second years passing in the opposite direction gasped and took off at a half-run when she said the name.  
  
"What, wearing jewelry? I don't see how it could," Ron said incredulously.  
  
Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure, but it could all be enchanted somehow. It could be some sort of charm… maybe something protective."  
  
They sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Harry began to wolf down his lunch. They had Transfiguration that afternoon, and he knew he'd need his strength. He mentally rehearsed what he'd say to McGonagall while he listened to Hermione and Ron bickering about something or other. In fact, he was still lost in private rehearsal when Hermione stood up and announced that they had better get going or they'd be late.  
  
Transfiguration was just as difficult as Harry had expected. All of the Gryffindors had made it into the NEWT class, and McGonagall had started them off on conjuring spells were which every bit as difficult as Harry had been told. Despite his best efforts, Harry could not conjure so much as a pin. Hermione, on the other hand, had nearly conjured a pencil (at the moment it wasn't so much a pencil as a lump of pencil-shaped, crumbly wood).  
  
"Don't be discouraged," McGonagall announced. "Conjuring spells can be incredibly difficult. It will probably take some time to master them. I want you all to practice until our next lesson—I'm expecting everyone to conjure at least a needle on their first try."  
  
There was a mass groan of frustration from the class as they stood to gather their things and leave. Ron was shaking his head in frustration. He had managed to conjure up a pile of dust; however, that was more of an annoyance than a victory, since the dust was now all down the front of his robes.  
  
"Mr. Potter—I'd like a word with you, please," McGonagall called.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd been meaning to ask if he could talk to her—the last thing he expected was a summons.  
  
"Maybe she wants to talk to you about the quidditch team," Ron whispered, beating the dust off the front of his robes. Harry shrugged and walked up to McGonagall's desk.  
  
"There's no need for you to wait, Mr. Weasley. I'm sure Potter can find his way back to the common room without you," McGonagall snapped. Ron's ears turned a bit red, but he hurried out after Hermione.  
  
"Well," McGonagall said, looking sharply at Harry. Harry noticed that she was wearing a necklace, just as Hermione had said.  
  
"Er," Harry said, feeling his own ears grow hot. "Listen, Professor, if you want to talk to me about the quidditch team—"  
  
"No, Potter, I don't want to talk about the quidditch team," she said. Her face softened slightly. "Although I'm sure you'll find us some excellent new players. Just a hint, though—a few new beaters wouldn't go amiss."  
  
"I'm a step ahead of you, Professor," Harry grinned.  
  
McGonagall gave him half a smile. "What I would like to discuss, Mr. Potter, is your extra lessons."  
  
Harry was at a loss. "Excuse me Professor?"  
  
"I told you last year that I would help you to become and auror, and I am a witch of my word. I will be giving you supplementary lessons until you pull your marks up enough that I am confident that you will earn a sufficiently high score on your NEWTs."  
  
"Oh, Professor, that's really not necessary—" Harry protested.  
  
"It is necessary," McGonagall said back. "I said I would do it, and I will. I pulled a lot of strings to convince the Headmaster to extend the exception to include Potions so that you could continue in that subject as well. I will see to it that you become an auror, Potter."  
  
"Er," Harry said again. "About potions—"  
  
"I heard all about this morning's incident," McGonagall said. "Whether you like it or not, Professor Snape was well within his rights to penalize you. You did provoke another student."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped at the injustice of the comment. "What about all the times he's provoked me? I got punished for all of them too!"  
  
"Nonetheless, Professor Snape was within his rights," McGonagall snapped back. "If anything, I should think the whole thing would impress upon you the importance of staying out of trouble this year. You're under a lot of scrutiny, right now, and failing could lose you a lot more than house points."  
  
Harry just looked at McGonagall. He couldn't believe she was standing in front of him, telling him to keep his nose clean.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, Potter. You know as well as I do that there are plenty of people who would like to see you fall right now, and if you do, then that's a victory for their side. What you need to do is stay out of trouble, and study everything that might help you to fight the Dark wizards," she said, a very stern look in her eyes. "I will see to it that you have every tool that an auror would need to fight He-who-must-not-be-named himself, because we both know that that's exactly what He wants to happen. So you will be taking extra lessons after school starting this week."  
  
"Couldn't we put it off until after the quidditch tryouts at least? I need time to devise our strategy," Harry said quietly.  
  
McGonagall's face twitched. "One week. I'll give you one week. We'll start next Thursday."  
  
Harry sighed resignedly. "Okay Professor," he said finally.  
  
Harry headed back to the Gryffindor common room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This year hadn't gotten off to the best start, and he had a sense of strong foreboding. He just hoped things wouldn't end up as badly as last year… 


	10. The Death Eaters Return

Hello again, Darlings! Well, here it is: Chapter ten. As promised. Just a smidgeon late. I'm including the reviewer responses for the last two chapters at the bottom of this chapter. Fair warning, though: I'm going home for the holidays, so I'm not promising regular updates again until January. Sorry! But on the bright side, there's a good chance that the 36 solid hours of travel will give me some time to write, so starting in January, we should be in good stead.  
  
Also, I feel the need to tell you something about the way I write. I never post a chapter until I have the next two chapters already written. That helps me to avoid plot holes, and if I need to change something for continuity's sake, then I can do it without feeling like a total noink. I tell you this because a few people have made comments which were awfully close to something coming up, and I don't want you guys to feel like I'm stealing your comments or anything.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
*********  
  
  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
The Death Eaters Return  
  
Despite Harry's feelings of dread after talking to McGonagall, the following week was actually pretty good. People stopped following him around just to be sure he wasn't dead, and he always had quidditch and the DA to occuppy his mind. Not to mention the fact that classes were definitely interesting.  
  
Everyone except Hermione seemed a little anxious about their next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, but despite being as creepy as the last lesson, it turned out okay. Hagrid introduced them to another benign Spirit creature, the Saxon Wailer. These were just as eerie as the wraiths had been but for a much different reason. While the wraiths looked frightening, the wailers looked just like a gust of glittery vapor, and you could only really see them when they passed through the smoke of a burning carniverous-rose branch. What made the wailers so unearthly was their cry—a shaky, high-pitched moan that set your hair on end. Seamus said it sounded like an infant banshee, and one of the Slytherins compared it to the cry of the augurey. Each time the Wailers passed through the smoke, the sound resonated around the class, making them all feel more than a little shaky by the end of the period.  
  
Harry tried again to talk to Hagrid after class, but once again, he ducked out toward the forest. "Tell yer what," he said, as he pulled on his moleskin coat, "why don' you come and see me on Saturday? Aroun' three?" Then he darted off into the forest.  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts was also fast becoming a popular lesson, despite many students' skepticism over so young and clumsy a teacher, particularly one apointed by the Ministry. Even Hermione seemed a bit anxious.  
  
"I hope we do something better than last lesson," she murmured to Harry as they sat down for their second lesson with Tonks.  
  
"What? Hermione, the reversal jinx is brilliant!" Harry protested. "Think of all you can do with it! If we knew it sooner—"  
  
"That's just it," Hermione said. "If it's so useful, why aren't wizards using it all the time? Anyway, it doesn't seem very practical. There are dozens of spells we should never reverse—really, there are only a few you can use it against at all. And how are you supposed to know exactly what spell someone's going to throw at you until after they've done it?"  
  
"Death Eaters like to gloat," Harry said quietly. "They like to tell you what they're going to do right before they do it so that they can watch you get scared. Sometimes you know."  
  
Hermione blinked at Harry, her eyes wide in shock. He didn't talk much about fighting the Death Eaters, at least not calmly. "O-okay," she finally conceded. "But if it's so easy to reverse spells, why don't wizards do it all the time?"  
  
Honestly, a tiny little part of Harry had been wondering the same thing. It had seemed so easy to reverse every spell Tonks had sent at them; even though you couldn't use it against a lot of spells, it seemed like with all the duels he'd seen, he would have come across this before. Why weren't wizards using it all the time?  
  
Fortunately, this week's lesson picked up where last week's had left off, and they were continuing with the reversal jinx. Tonks, today sporting bubblegum pink hair, had a lot more to tell them about the spell.  
  
They began the class by reversing more jinxes, but it seemed harder today. Harry only halfway reversed the Tarantallegra spell she sent at him, and ended up with one stationary leg and one that was kicking wildly. After fifteen minutes, half the class was suffering the effects of a load of half-reversed curses. Ron had been hit with the twitchy-ears hex, and his ears randomly began flapping furiously, as though he were about to take off. Even Hermione hadn't managed to fully reverse the spell, and her right arm was frozen immobile at her side by the full-body-bind.  
  
"Not bad," Tonks grinned surveying the class, every single student of which was nursing some bizarre partial malady. A few of them looked up at her with expressions of disgust. "I put a little more power behind these curses. In real battle it'll be harder than that, even. It's rare for you to get the chance to use the reversal jinx, and when you do, it's bloody near impossible to get it to work all the way."  
  
Now everyone was looking at her in frustration, with the exception of Ron, who had his hands firmly clamped over his ears to prevent them from flapping too much. Even Harry felt more than a little annoyed. Why was she putting them through all this nonsense to learn a spell that she now said they couldn't even use?  
  
"Then what's the point?" asked Neville, who was wrestling half a face full of bat-bogeys. "Professor?" he added, perhaps to soften his tone.  
  
Tonks smiled grimly. "Good question. The point, Neville, is that the reversal jinx is one of the only defenses against the Cruciatus Curse."  
  
A sharp intake of breath from most of the students accompanied this statement. Anything to do with the Unforgivable Curses was serious business. Harry's eyes flicked to Neville, and he noticed that despite the flapping bat-bogeys, Neville's expression had grown hard and determined.  
  
"But Professor Moody—I mean, the fake Professor Moody—said that there is no defense against the Unforgivables!" protested Dean.  
  
"Who do you think taught me this jinx?" Tonks said lightly, examining the back of her hand.  
  
Seamus and Dean's jaws dropped. "You know Moody?" Dean asked in a tone of utmost awe.  
  
"Sure," Tonks shrugged. "Mad-eye is an old friend."  
  
"What, the real Moody?" Seamus asked.  
  
"No, I hang around with the imposter. He's excellent conversation," Tonks said rolling her eyes. "Anyway, the reversal jinx doesn't reverse the curse completely, but if you're good with it, it'll lessen things enough for you to get your bearings or escape. If you can use it against these smaller spells, then you'll have a good fighting chance. I can't, and don't really want to use the Cruciatus curse on you for practice, so we'll keep trying it on these curses until you've got it down. Then, if you do get hit by the Cruciatus curse, you'll have a fighting chance. Now pair up and try it against each other."  
  
Even potions wasn't so bad. Harry was still angry with McGonagall for not letting him quit, but at the same time, he felt like he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of chasing him away. He found that as long as Hermione collected their ingredients, and Harry avoided talking to Snape or Malfoy, he managed to survive lessons without being poisoned or losing too many points for Gryffindor. Snape still found excuses to take points away from him and Hermione—and Harry felt bad about ruining Hermione's deservedly perfect marks—but at least he didn't get any more zeros.  
  
By Friday morning, things were really beginning to look up. He had set the date for the first DA meetng for Monday evening, which was slightly over a week away from the quidditch tryouts, and he was really looking forward to getting everyone together and working on some new counterjinxes and things. He had also happened to pass by a group of second years on the grounds who were practicing for the quidditch tryouts, and he was pleased to see that some of them weren't too bad.  
  
So, Friday morning at breakfast, Harry was feeling pretty good while he listened to a noisy argument between the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick. They seemed to be having some kind of disagreement over Peeves, and two thirds of the Gryffindors were listening with interest. Harry was just about to shout his encouragement to Nick when a large tawny owl dropped a heavy parcel in his lap.  
  
"Ooohf," Harry said, looking down at the big box with surprise. No one ever sent him care packages; sometimes there was something for him in with the Weasley's things, but that was all.  
  
"Presents?" Ron peered at the box. "Or did you leave something at home?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry said, surprised. "I don't think so."  
  
"There's a letter as well," Hermione said, untying a scroll of parchment from the owl's leg. It stretched its wings, hooted cheerfully, and took off. "Maybe you should read that first."  
  
Hermione handed over the roll, and Harry unwound it. He read aloud,  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
I'm sending along these sweets because Mrs. Weasley tells me that you don't get too many packages from home. If you want more any time, just send me an owl and I'll get some right back to you.  
  
Remus moved back into the house Wednesday, so things aren't so dreadfully quiet here. He's good company; he knows all sorts of exciting wizard stories and he likes my meatloaf. Everyone is very busy with this and that (you know!) but I, for one, am having a good time. It's nice to be helpful.  
  
When is your first quidditch match? I want to come (I've never seen a quidditch game!) but Remus doesn't think it's such a hot idea. He's promised to take me to a Chudley Cannons game sometime. Doesn't Ron rather like them? Are they any good?  
  
Remus says I better stop writing and let you finish your breakfast (is it really breakfast? What are you eating?) so I will. Enjoy the sweets! See you soon,  
  
Mira."  
  
Harry sat down the parchment. Hermione was frowning thoughtfully, and Ron had one eyebrow raised. "She's just as flighty on paper," he muttered.  
  
"She's getting awfully buddy-buddy with Lupin, isn't she?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry nodded. "That doesn't make any sense either. A few weeks ago, he didn't trust her at all. I can't believe they're best friends now," he said.  
  
"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Hermione recited thoughtfully. "And they are both rather lonely, aren't they? It wouldn't be so bad if they were friends."  
  
"No, not bad at all," Ron said sarcastically. "She's a lovely girl, really. Makes good pancakes. There's just that little bit about her mysterious appearance and possible ties to You-know-who, but I guess as long as she doesn't murder him in his sleep, they'll be great mates."  
  
"Exactly," Hermione said in a dignified way. "If they're friends, he'll be able to watch her and figure out what she's up to."  
  
"Wait," Harry said. "You think he's just pretending to be her friend so he can keep an eye on her?"  
  
"I think it's possible," Hermione said. "If he thinks she's up to something, it'd be an excellent way to find out what."  
  
Harry, unable to contain his curiosity, ripped open the package. There was a box of chocolate frogs, a sack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and a large basket full of gooey, homemade peanut-butter fudge bars. The smell was delicious.  
  
"Oh, yum," Ron said, a glazed look in his eyes. "You going to share those?"  
  
"Of course," Harry grinned.  
  
"You only just ate breakfast, Ron," Hermione said.  
  
"Later, of course," Ron said quickly.  
  
"I better go put these up in the dormitory," Harry said. "We've only got a few minutes before Charms."  
  
"Hurry, Harry, we only have five minutes!" Hermione called as Harry carried the box out of the Great Hall. Draco watched him run out of the Hall, and Harry was fairly sure that he was jealous.  
  
He made it to Charms a little bit late, but Professor Flitwick was busy drawing a diagram on the chalkboard, and didn't notice when he slipped into his seat beside Ron.  
  
The rest of the day went smoothly. Their lessons were pretty easy, and, since Harry and Ron weren't taking Divinations, they had the afternoon off. It was a gorgeous day, the blue skies having stuck around for the weekend, so, while Hermione went to Arithmancy, they grabbed their brooms and headed outdoors for a bit more quidditch. They spent a few glorious hours swooping around the field, Harry playing chaser again, until Ron't stomach was growling so loudly that Harry could hear it from half the pitch away.  
  
They locked their brooms in the shed and grabbed the practice balls. They hurried back toward the castle in hopes of catching something more for dinner than just crumbs and leavings. Fortunately, they made it back much earlier than last time.  
  
There was no sign of Hermione in the Great Hall, so they sat down with Neville, and loaded up their plates. They ate slowly, and Harry had seconds on treacle tart. Neville told them about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which had apparently grown to six times its original size, and had to be replanted in the Longbottom's backyard. The only problem was that neighborhood cats had a tendency to set off its defense mechanisms, and Neville's grandmother was complaining about the house being covered in swamp muck every time a stray cat wandered past.  
  
When the three of them returned to the common room, they once again found Hermione bent over a huge roll of parchment, scribbling furiously.  
  
"What this time, Hermione?" Ron said, picking up a book that she had perched on the arm of her chair. She plucked it back out of his hands.  
  
"Arithmancy," she said simply, and, flicking a few pages through the book, went back to work. "And I'll thank you to keep your commentary to yourself."  
  
Ron, with a rather hurt look, sank into a chair nearby. "It was only a question," he muttered.  
  
Harry pulled up a chair nearby, and got out a huge piece of parchment that he had started on earlier that day. He was making an announcement about the quidditch tryouts to post on the board, and hopefully attract the good players that way. He had borrowed some drawing quills and colored inks from Dean, who liked to draw and had promised to do an illustration of the quidditch pitch at the bottom of the parchment when Harry was done with the rest of it. Harry dipped the drawing quill, which was just like a regular quill except that it had a removable point so you could get different sized lines, into a pot of brilliant scarlet ink, and wrote out "Quidditch Trials!" in big, glorious letters. Drawing wasn't really his specialty, but he could manage lettering okay.  
  
Below that, he added, in various colors, "Positions available for three Chasers and two Beaters. Anyone welcome to try out! Tuesday, September 18th, 6:00 sharp." Harry was pleased with the result, and decided to go back and embellish the letters a bit to make them stand out. Ron was giving him helpful suggestions.  
  
"Add a curly bit around the numbers, to make them stick out a bit more. And maybe you can put a shadow behind 'Quidditch Trials'," he said. "Hey, do you reckon we can get Dean to enchant it so that the letters change colors?"  
  
Harry grinned. "I bet we don't even have to ask. Dean loves quidditch, right? I'm sure he'll enchant it on his own," He picked up the parchment and blew on it to dry the ink. "Speaking of which, have you seen him around? He's supposed to draw the players on—"  
  
"I imagine he's with Ginny," Ron said, grimacing.  
  
"So, where's she?" Harry said, looking around the common room.  
  
"Here she comes," said Hermione, slipping her book and her neatly-rolled parchment into her bag.  
  
Sure enough, Ginny had just stepped through the portrait hole, and was heading toward them with a solemn look on her face. She was not accompanied by Dean, as they had been hoping, but by Colin Creevey, who was the other new Gryffindor prefect. They split up just inside the room, though; Colin hurried off to join his brother at a table nearer the fire, while Ginny headed straight for them.  
  
"Hey, Ginny," Ron called, "have you seen—"  
  
"Not now," she interrupted him. Ron's face grew slightly red. "I've got something to tell you."  
  
She sat down at the table beside them. Ginny reached into her robes and pulled out a slip of paper. "Colin and I were walking back from dinner, when Professor McGonagall caught us and gave me this," she said. It looked like a cutting from the Daily Prophet. "It's from the evening edition. She said I should show it to you, right away. I read it on the way here, and believe me—it isn't good."  
  
Harry's stomach had that leaden feeling again. Ginny motioned them all closer, and they leaned in to listen.  
  
"Special Report: You-know-who Attacks Again!  
  
Third attack leaves three wizards hospitalized, one missing.  
  
Supporters of He-who-must-not-be-named struck again this afternoon, attacking the Manchester home of the Jones family and putting Decimus Jones, 42, and his brother-in-law, Michael Moorecomb, 32, in St Mungo's Hospital; a third, unidentified person, presumably one of You-know-who's supporters, was also sent to St. Mungo's, and all three are listed in critical condition. Mrs. Hestia Jones, a member of the Magical containment squad and important asset to the Ministry, is currently missing.  
  
'This is an unbelievable tragedy,' said a friend of the Jones family. 'They weren't even supposed to be home today, except poor Hestia were a bit under the weather. That's tragic, that is.'  
  
According to one Ministry wizard, 'Mr. Moorecomb claims that he and his brother-in-law were at work [in the Potions supply shop they own on Diagon Alley] when they received an urgent magical summons from his sister. When they arrived home, she was already gone, and only two Death Eaters were still present.'"  
  
"The article goes on," Ginny said, her eyes still racing down the page, "but that's the important bit."  
  
"Hestia Jones?" Ron said, frowning. "Isnt' she…"  
  
"A member of the Order," Harry whispered, nodding. "I met her last summer." Harry remembered her as a witch with black hair and very pink cheeks. They exchanged a grim look.  
  
Hermione looked struck. "I can't believe it—they got one of us!"  
  
"How long has she been missing?" Harry asked.  
  
Ginny scanned the page. "The Dark Mark was spotted at four-o-clock, and it's—" she checked her watch, "nine thirty now. That's at least five and a half hours."  
  
There was a mournful silence. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "I think she's still alive," he murmured.  
  
Ron looked at him, eyebrows raised. "How? Your scar?"  
  
Harry nodded. "It hasn't hurt at all today. I'm pretty sure he'd be happy if he got one of us—it hurt when they got the Dodges. Maybe she got away."  
  
"Did you feel anything while you were playing quidditch?" Ginny asked. "You might not have noticed if you were busy—"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Believe me, I would have noticed. Not a thing."  
  
Hermione frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this—besides the obvious one, I mean. It says that they were supposed to be away, right? She was only home because she was sick? Well, how did the Death Eaters know?"  
  
"They just got lucky," Ron said.  
  
"No—Hermione has a point," Ginny said. "They attacked in the middle of the day, and everyone knows Hestia works at the Ministry, so she shouldn't even have been there. There wouldn't have been much point in attacking an empty house, would there?"  
  
"They knew where she was? How could they have known?" Harry asked.  
  
"Either they have a spy in her department," Hermione said, "or in the Order."  
  
"That's jumping to conclusions, Hermione," Ginny protested.  
  
"They might not have wanted to find her at all," Ron said. "They might have been looking for something. Maybe she was holding something for someone, and they were trying to get at it."  
  
"Of course, that's possible too," Hermione said, looking relieved.  
  
They talked well into the night, always keeping their voices low and steady. They worried about other members of the Order who were no doubt out looking for Hestia. They theorized about why Hestia might have been targeted—what she was doing, why she was important—and then they talked about the earlier attack. Mr. Dodge had already left the hospital, but Mrs. Dodge had been moved to the closed ward. According to the Prophet, he visited her every day.  
  
The whole thing left Harry feeling very drained and tired, and he was a little relieved when Hermione stood up and suggested they all go to bed and talk about it again in the morning. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until then. He and Ron said goodnight to Hermione and Ginny, and they went to their separate dormitories.  
  
Harry lay in bed, staring at the shaft of moonlight flickering through his bed hangings. His mind wandered wildly, always returning to the face of a pink-cheeked witch and a pair of red eyes. He could almost hear that high, cold laugh in his mind. He felt sick for Hestia, and for her family. Was he imagining it, or was his scar tingling? No, he was just thinking about it so hard—it wasn't really tingling. If he just stopped thinking about it, it would stop.  
  
He slipped into a deep and heavy sleep, dreamless and safe.  
  
And then, with the sudden feeling of falling, he was in a dream.  
  
He stood in the midst of a dusty room with cold white walls. Slivers of gray morning light drifted through the high windows, illuminating the woman kneeling in front of him. She had the hood of her black robe pushed back, and he could clearly see her long, shining black hair, but her head was bowed, obscuring her face from his view.  
  
"And? To what end?" Harry asked, his voice high and cold.  
  
"We… worked… with her for many hours, Master," the woman said in a trembling voice. "But at last she broke."  
  
Harry felt a sudden surge of hope. "She has given us names, then? Or better yet—a location?" He looked across the room. Lying in front of a fireplace, a smear of blood across its dirty white tiles, was a black and gray bundle. No, he could tell now that it was a woman, her arms and legs tucked in close to her chest. Her face was stretched toward the light, and her eyes were open and staring. Her cheeks, once pink, were now pale and bloodless.  
  
The woman looked up, and now Harry could see her evil smile and her heavy-lidded eyes. "Two names, my Master," she said. "Two that our spy has not given us yet."  
  
He began to laugh, slowly at first, happy in his victory. But then, suddenly, his head began to hurt as though it were on fire. He clutched at his forehead, but the pain was spreading. He was overcome with the agony of it. He was screaming, screaming in two voices. They woman in the black robe was shouting "Master! Master, what's wrong?" And another voice was calling, "Harry, wake up! Wake up!" But the pain—the pain was overwhelming.  
  
Harry opened his eyes. He was sitting upright in bed—Ron had grabbed his shoulders. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all staring at him around the bed-hangings. He could see their pale faces and wide, curious eyes in the gray early- morning light streaming through the half-open curtains beside his bed.  
  
Harry looked at Ron. Ron's eyes were the widest of all.  
  
"Hestia's dead," Harry said.  
  
Then he lost consciousness again.  
  
*****************  
  
Reviewer Responses for Chs 8 & 9  
  
Szihuoko—I think Hermione agreed with you about Reversio, and hopefully, today's DADA lesson assuaged your doubts somewhat. It's a tricky spell, but it has its role to play in the future. As for Harry, well, I'm sorry you thought he was putting up with too much. Hopefully you'll be happier in future.  
  
Rathien1—She's on to me! Just kidding. :-)  
  
Jeff—Thanks. I'm on board with the minimal romance as well.  
  
Makotochi—Thanks. Hope you like the new chapter.  
  
Wiccan Pussykat—Wow! Your reviews are almost as long as my chapters! Apologies for not including all the responses in the chapter 9 update. I was just plain too tired. (Fun fact: as of this update, we've topped 100pages.) I'll go chronologically here…  
  
I hope you feel better about Reversio now that it's been explained a bit better.  
  
As for the romances, well, I don't want to give anything away before the end… But… I am not a romance writer, I promise not to do anything hideously cliché, and I won't do anything that I can't see happening in the actual books. Does that reassure you? I know, it's cryptic, but I don't want to say too much. I also will not introduce anything without having some sort of explanation waiting in the wings, to be revealed in its own good time.  
  
And I suppose it's obvious there's something up with the ring. I did NAME the fic after it, after all. :-)  
  
Queen Cari—Me too. Me too.  
  
Szelij—Brace yourself, because you're about to get the brunt of my rant for everyone who emailed me complaining that McGonagall wouldn't let Harry quit potions. You're the only one who had the guts to actually post it as a review, so you have my respect there.  
  
I'm operating on an assumption here. I'm assuming that in Hogwarts, like in the real world, when you want to drop a class you have to get the permission of your advisor (HoH). Now, do you *honestly* think that after McGonagall, in making good on her promise to help Harry become an auror, pulled so many strings and went to so much trouble to get him into the Potions class, she'd let him quit again just because he had a bad day? Honestly? I mean, from reading the books, I can't think of any other way she'd respond than "Tough it out, Potter." Anything else would be painfully out of character. At the very, very least, she'd make him wait until his head had cooled to see if he'd gotten over it.  
  
That's how the world works. It doesn't make Harry a puppet. It makes him subject to the same rules as everyone else.  
  
And anyway, I don't think he really, really wanted to quit. As Wiccan PussyKat pointed out, that would be letting Snape win.  
  
Merlin Brookback—Aw, I'm blushing! Thanks. :-)  
  
Okay, that's it! See you next time. Same bat time, same bat channel. 


	11. Tea with Hagrid

*****Author's note—Welcome back! I hope everyone had happy holidays and a good start to 2004. Apologies for the hiatus, but I certainly enjoyed my trip back to my homeland, and I thank you all for your patience. Enjoy this latest installment! Reviewer responses are at the bottom. Yours as ever, neoepiphany*****  
  
*****Notice**** All chapters of this story have been replaced in order to correct a repetitive and idiotic spelling mistake on my part. A great deal of thanks to astronut for pointing it out! No other changes were made to the text, however. Thanks, neoepiphany****  
  
  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
Tea with Hagrid  
  
"—wasn't having those visions anymore."  
  
"It seems the matter is more complicated than I suspected. We might be able to get a firmer grasp on the situation once we've had a chance to talk to him."  
  
"Is there anything we can do to stop it?"  
  
"I'm afraid I've exhausted every outlet of research. There's simply never been a situation such as this before, so, without risking Harry's life, there's little we can try." There was the sound of footsteps, coming closer. "But unless I'm much mistaken, Professor McGonagall, our patient is awake."  
  
"I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey," McGonagall said. Her footsteps retreated, and Harry heard the door to the hospital wing open and close.  
  
Harry didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to look at Dumbledore. Once again, he had the curious sensation that a snake was coiling within him and that to see Dumbledore would be to invite it to attack.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," the Headmaster said, pleasantly. Harry heard the squeaking of springs—Dumbledore had sat down beside him.  
  
"Good morning," Harry replied. He was surprised at how thin and croaky his voice was.  
  
"I understand you've had another vision," Dumbledore said gently.  
  
Harry winced. He had almost managed to forget the dream in sleep, but at Dumbledore's words it rushed back to him. He opened his eyes, desperate to chase away the vision of Hestia Jones's face that was burned onto the backs of his eyelids. "Yes, Professor," Harry whispered. He stared at the ceiling.  
  
"Can you tell me about it?"  
  
Harry sighed. "She's dead—Hestia Jones is dead."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I saw her," Harry snapped. He swallowed hard, and softened his tone. "Professor."  
  
"I understand," Dumbledore said kindly. "But I need you to tell me what you saw. Exactly what you saw."  
  
Harry grimaced. Reliving the visions was tiring and painful. It had been one thing when he'd seen Mr. Weasley attacked—he had been only too eager to get them to listen to him then. He'd been driven by urgency. But there was no urgency now, no hurry to make them understand. It was too late for Hestia.  
  
"I was—was Voldemort," Harry said. He swallowed. His mouth was very dry. He didn't know how to go on; he didn't know if he wanted to go on.  
  
"What was the first thing you saw?" Dumbledore suggested.  
  
"A dirty white room," Harry replied. "White walls, white floor, white everything. It was all filthy." As he spoke the vision began to reappear in his mind, as though he'd hit the play button on a video. He saw the hunched figure of the cowering Death Eater. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he spat. "She'd been torturing Hestia." Harry stopped, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "Then what did you see?"  
  
Harry felt cold. "Voldemort looked at the fireplace. She was there. Hestia was there—" He suddenly swallowed hard, but he continued. He gathered his strength to go on. "Bellatrix said that before she died, Hestia told them two names. She said that Hestia gave them two names that their spy hadn't given them yet." Harry sat up. "Their spy! Professor, she said they have a spy."  
  
"I see," Dumbledore said, his voice very grave. Harry risked a look at him. He wasn't looking at Harry, but staring at a point on the opposite wall with a grim expression. Dumbleore stood up, and walked around the bed, looking thoughtfully at his feet. At last he spoke. "Did she say anything else? Anything at all?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "At the end of my dream, when my scar began to hurt, she called out to Voldemort. Asking if he was okay. But that was it."  
  
"Harry, it is very important that you tell me the truth. Since last spring, exactly how many visions like this have you had? No matter how minor they may have seemed," Dumbledore asked.  
  
"None, Professor," Harry said. "Until last night, I haven't had any dreams at all."  
  
Dumbledore paused mid-stride. He turned his twinkling eyes to Harry. "None? No dreams at all? Not even normal ones?"  
  
"That's right," Harry said.  
  
"How about your scar? Does it still hurt a lot?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "It hurts a bit sometimes, but not like last year. Not as much."  
  
Dumbledore resumed his aimless pacing around the bed. "Interesting," he murmured.  
  
"What's interesting?" Harry asked. He could feel the little well of irritation that he was trying so hard to suppress opening up again.  
  
"It's interesting," Dumbledore said, "that you seem to have found a way to shut off Voldemort's link to you, Harry."  
  
Harry's jaw fell slightly. "What? No—I'm not doing anything," he protested.  
  
"It may have something to do with Voldemort's attempt to possess you," Dumbledore sugested. "Perhaps you weakened the link between the two of you, or you awakened some kind of self-defense mechanism that won't allow him to access your mind."  
  
Harry hadn't given a lot of thought to why he'd stopped dreaming; he'd just considered it a blessing that he had done so. However, either of Dumbledore's theories were welcome. He felt well rid of Voldemort's connection to him—that is, if he really was rid of it.  
  
"But the question we must return to," Dumbledore said, "is why the link manifested itself again last night. Professor McGonagall tells me that she sent you and your friends the clipping from the Evening Prophet, so you already knew that Hestia was missing."  
  
"We were worried about her, and about everyone out looking for her," Harry said. "I was still thinking about it when I fell asleep. I was thinking that if she died, I'd know it because of my scar."  
  
"Ah," Dumbledore said, smiling again. "Most extraordinary. Harry—do you realize what this means? It's possible that you managed to overcome your own self-defense mechanism in order to get the information you desired. You manifested the link against Voldemort."  
  
Harry frowned. "Are you saying… Are you saying that I possessed Voldemort?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "By concentrating on Hestia, you initiated the link by an act of will. This is an impressive feat, Harry."  
  
Harry sank back onto his pillows. It made sense. This time had been different than the last times he had seen what Voldemort saw. Those times, he had felt physically ill, or somehow violated by the visions. Now, all he felt was tired. He remembered Voldemort crying out in pain—pain he shared with Harry. That had definitely never happened before.  
  
Dumbledore reappeared at Harry's side. "But I must ask you not to attempt to reinitiate the link. By doing so, you are putting yourself in grave danger. If Voldemort is aware of what you are doing, he could do you serious harm."  
  
"But Professor—" Harry began to protest. He had thought last year that being able to see through Voldemort's eyes, he could be a useful asset for the Order. But, if he were able to somehow possess Voldemort at will, that was even more of a gift. They wouldn't even need spies anymore. But, he didn't get the chance to voice his dissent; Madame Pomfrey came bustling toward them, Professor McGonagall nearby, and Dumbledore raised his hand to silence Harry.  
  
"It is far too dangerous for you to try again, Harry. You must take my word on that. I will rely on you to do the right thing," Dumbledore said.  
  
"What hurts, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey said, grabbing his wrist and checking his pulse. "Stomach? Head? Scar? Any nausea? Blurry vision?" She peered in his eyes and laid a hand on his forehead to check for fever.  
  
"No, nothing," Harry said, jerking his head from under her hand. "I'm just tired, that's all."  
  
"Hmmm," Madame Pomfrey said thoughtfully, straightening up triumphantly, "I think some rest would do you good. You should stay here for the rest of the weekend."  
  
"What?!" Harry exclaimed. "No—I'm not that tired. Just a few hours, that's all."  
  
Madame Pomfrey frowned down at Harry. "We'll see," she said in a tone that clearly indicated she disagreed.  
  
"We'll leave you to it, then," Dumbledore said. "Come, Minerva. We have much to do." McGonagall sped to his side, and they walked out, grave-faced and whispering.  
  
Madame Pomfrey drew the curtains around Harry's bed, and the light became pleasantly dim. He didn't know what time it was, but he guessed it was around mid-morning. He lay back on his pillows, and, in a very short time, he drifted back off to sleep—blissfully dreamless sleep.  
  
He awoke again at last, and marvelled at how much better he felt. He didn't know if he'd slept for a few minutes or a few hours, and, he wondered for a moment why he'd awoken so quickly. The question was promptly answered by a growl from his stomach.  
  
Harry sat up, and pushed aside the curtains. Madame Pomfrey, spun around from two beds away, where she was tending a Hufflepuff second year who, judging from the purple boils erupting all over his face, had come off the worse in a fight with the Slytherins.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.  
  
"I'm starving. I'm going to lunch," he replied.  
  
"Get back in bed. I'll have a tray sent up."  
  
Harry managed to bargain with her, and eventually, Madame Pomfrey capitulated. Harry was allowed to go, as long as he promised to come straight back if he felt the least bit out of sorts. His robes had been sent up from the dormitory; he changed quickly behind a curtain and hurried to the Great Hall. He pushed open the door and crossed the hall to the half-full Gryffindor table.  
  
Ron and Hermione were sitting with their backs to the door, heads bowed in concerned conversation. Ron was munching on a bit of apple pie. Harry plopped down across from them. "What'd I miss?" he asked, helping himself to some chicken and peas.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, smiling brightly. "You're back! Are you okay?"  
  
"We thought you'd be in there all day at least," Ron said.  
  
"If Madame Pomfrey'd had her way, I would've been. But I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I just needed a bit of sleep, that's all," Harry said. He ripped into the chicken. It was juicy and rich, tasting of lemon and pepper. He grabbed another piece.  
  
"A little hungry, are we?" Ron said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Absolutely famished," Harry said between mouthfuls. "Feel like I haven't eaten in a year, to be honest."  
  
"What happened, Harry?" Hermione said, frowning. "What did you see?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange. And Hestia."  
  
Hermione gasped a little, and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Was she—?"  
  
Harry nodded. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, whispering "Oh, no." Ron just shook his head, and took a bite of his pie.  
  
"That's not the worst of it, either," Harry said. "You were right, Hermione. They do have a spy in the Order."  
  
Ron's mouth dropped open, displaying the pie. He quickly shut it again and swallowed. "Are you sure?" he said.  
  
Harry just nodded again. "They said so."  
  
"Oh no," Hermione whispered again. "You told Dumbledore, of course?"  
  
"Of course. He didn't seem all that surprised, actually."  
  
"Maybe," Ron said, his brow furrowed, "maybe they knew there was a spy already. And—no, wait for it, Hermione—they've been feeding them false information to keep Voldemort off guard."  
  
Hermione sighed. "It is possible, Ron," she said diplomatically. Ron smiled, happily.  
  
"But who could it be?" Hermione murmured, more to herself than to them.  
  
Ron gave her a condescending look. "Isn't it obvious? Someone new turns up under mysterious circumstances, and the next thing we know, we've got spies in the Order. Just who could it be?" he said, rubbing his chin in mock-concentration.  
  
"Yes, but it just seems a little—well, obvious, doesn't it?" Hermione said. "I mean, obviously we'd think of Mira first because she's the newest. No one trusts her yet."  
  
"Dumbledore trusts her," Harry pointed out.  
  
"Does he?" Hermione said. "How do you know?"  
  
"Lupin said so," Harry shrugged.  
  
"Dumbledore believes in second chances," Hermione said, frowning.  
  
"But who else could it be, Hermione?" Ron persisted. "It's obviously not Lupin, McGonagall, or Dumbledore."  
  
"I doubt it's Tonks or Kingsley, either," Harry added.  
  
"Could be Snape," Ron mused, and Hermione shot him a withering look. "What? It could be!"  
  
"The fact is, it could be anyone," Hermione sighed.  
  
Harry frowned. The last time there had been a spy in the Order, it had turned out to be the person they least suspected. And that had cost his mother and father their lives. The thought made his recently-filled stomach turn. "Anything in this morning's Prophet, Hermione?" he asked, desperately changing the subject.  
  
"Just more details about yesterday's attack," Hermione said. "And they say that Hestia Jones is still missing. Oh, and an article about Fudge's falling popularity."  
  
Harry sighed, and pushed aside a small pile of chicken bones. He bit into a roll.  
  
"Er," Ron said, "do you fancy a bit more quidditch before we go to Hagrid's?"  
  
"Hagrid's!" Harry said, smiling. "I'd completely forgotten."  
  
"You don't have time for quidditch. Neither of you has started your homework, and I'm not going to help you finish this time," Hermione said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Thank you," Ron snapped at her, "we are perfectly capable of finishing a Care of Magical Creatures essay and doing a bit of practice for Charms and Transfiguration on Sunday. That leaves the whole of today free for fun and liesure."  
  
Hermione just sighed.  
  
Harry helped himself to a piece of pie, and quickly ate it. They were almost the last ones out of the Great Hall when they finally left. Harry and Ron had reverted to their favorite subject of conversation—the upcoming quidditch tryouts. Harry had never actualy tried out for quidditch; he'd been picked by Professor McGonagall. Ron on the other hand had been to tryouts for three different positions last year, first his own, and then the tryouts to replace Fred, George, and Harry when Umbridge threw them off the team. Ron was describing what they'd been like to Harry, when the three of them rounded a corner and walked into a gigging crowd.  
  
"What's going on?" Hermione said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the heads blocking their view.  
  
"Move aside, move aside," Ron said, pushing a group of first-years out of the way. "Prefects coming through." Harry followed him through the crowd.  
  
When he saw what was in the center of the crowd, Harry burst out laughing. Apparently, someone had let loose a sackfull of Weasley's Evolving Fluffblasters. He'd never seen them in action, but Ron had told him about them over the summer. They looked like fluffy little balls, but, they were spelled to change into whatever shape was best suited to mischeif making at the moment. So, anyone wishing to cause a little trouble, could tuck one into a quiet corner and in a few minute it would evolve into something else. A few of them were still in ball shape, and these had been thrown into a sack by Filch, who was being assisted by a handful of prefects: Ginny, Terry Boot, and Ernie Macmillan. The remaing ten or so had turned into a variety of bizarre shapes. One looked like a fuzzy octopus, and had gripped Ernie's head firmly with it's tentacles. Ernie was trying to get it off by shooting a variety of curses at it, but, as Harry watched, the octopus sprouted a thick shell. The crowd burst out laughing as Ernie dropped to all fours and began banging his head on the ground. Terry had four or five of them that looked like wide-eyed monkeys hanging onto his robes like doxies. They were singing a rude song in loud, high-pitched voices, and every time he tried to catch one, it bit his fingers. Filch was busily trying to disentangle one that had assumed a long, snake-like shape and then wrapped itself around his cat, Mrs. Norris. Ginny, meanwhile, was red faced and panting as she chased one that looked like a small, furry ostritch. It batted its long eyelashes at the crowd as they circled past. To top it all off, Peeves had gotten into the action, and was circling the crowd singing a rude song, and shooting spitballs at the prefects.  
  
"I'm going to kill Fred and George," Ginny panted as she ran past Ron.  
  
"Me too," Hermione said, as she sent a Reductor curse at the octopus on Ernie's head, sending it flying.  
  
"It's not like they set them loose," Ron pointed out, ducking a spitball. "It's not really their fault what people do with their merchandise."  
  
"They invented the stupid things!" Hermione said, tossing the octopus, which had reverted to a little fluffy ball, back into the bag. "Impressive, but more than a little annoying."  
  
"These don't come—Ouch!—cheap, either," Ron said, picking a monkey shaped one off of Terry and tossing it into the bag. "Someone—Ouch!—saved up for quite a—Eeech!—while."  
  
Harry decided to help, and, after only a minute or two, the fluffblaster he had been trying to disentangle from Terry's robes had formed itself into a giant ring, pinning Harry's arms at his side. He tried vainly to angle his wand well enough to curse it, but succeeded only in setting the hem of his robes on fire. By the time he stamped it out, most of the fluffblasters were back in the bag. Hermione managed to get Harry's off, and it reverted back to its ball form. Filch confiscated the bag, and carried it away, muttering about detentions and possible hanging by the thumbs in the dungeons.  
  
"I'm going to have to write Fred and George about that," Ron said. "They'll be thrilled."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.  
  
By the time they got back to Gryffindor tower and changed into less dusty and fur-covered robes, it was almost time to go down to Hagrid's. They walked across the grounds, enjoying the warm, sunny weather, and banged on Hagrid's front door. A chorus of barks rang from inside.   
  
"Down Fang!" Hagrid shouted. "Down! Come on in," he called toward the door, and they let themselves in.  
  
Hagrid looked a mess. He had another huge bruise on the side of his face, and his wiry hair and beard were full of twigs.  
  
"Hagrid! What happened?" Hermione said. "You were looking so much better!"  
  
"It's nothin'," Hagrid protested. "Just a bit o' a bruise is all."  
  
"Is it Grawp?" Harry asked, feeling that he somehow knew the answer before he asked.  
  
"Yeah," Hagrid nodded, motioning them all to chairs. "Big feller just don' know his own strength, tha's all. He's been much better since Olympe brought Hedgarr up—" Hagrid's eyes suddenly widened and he turned quickly to get down a milk jug and sugar.  
  
"Hedgarr? Who's Hedgarr?" Ron exclaimed in alarm.  
  
"Oh, Hagrid, you didn't bring another giant!" Hermione moaned.  
  
"They're only little ones, Hermione," Hagrid protested. "An' Grawp was lonely."  
  
Hermione looked as though she were going to cry.  
  
"There's going to be an entire tribe of giants in the Forbidden Forest at this rate," Ron sighed.  
  
"Don' be silly," Hagrid said. "Jus' the two of 'em."  
  
"Yeah, but what if they decide to have babies?" Ron said.  
  
Hagrid ignored Ron's comment. "You'll have to meet Hedgarr," Hagrid went on. "She's a real sigh'. Foot-anna-half taller than Grawp, but just as sweet as she can be."  
  
"Sweet?" Harry said, incredulous.  
  
"Fer her kind," Hagrid qualified it. "I mean, she don' let him rip down the trees, and she keeps him quiet. Quieter."  
  
"But Hagrid—" Hermione protested.  
  
"Nah, they're happy, Hermione. They like bein' together," he said. "An' they're getting' where they're okay on their own. Hedgarr don' speak a word of English, but Grawp's gettin' pretty good at it."  
  
Harry could tell that Hagrid didn't want to talk about the giants. But there was one question that he had to ask. "What does Dumbledore say about them, Hagrid?"  
  
Hagrid sighed, and looked at Harry. He half smiled. "Shoulda known you'd know. Nothin' gets by you three."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore had to know. He went into the forest after Umbridge. All the centaurs saw Grawp. And it wouldn't exactly be easy to overlook all the trees he's pulled down."  
  
"Dumbledore," Hagrid murmured, "thinks I ought not ter have brought him in the first place, but that now it'd be cruel ter send him back."  
  
Hermione nodded. "He's gotten used to you," she said. Harry remembered Grawp last spring as he chased down the centaurs shouting for "Hagger."  
  
"He's my brother," Hagrid sniffed. "But Dumbledore wants 'em off the grounds. Says they're a danger ter the students. He's tryin' to find a reserve or somethin' where we can put 'em." Hagrid sniffed again, and looked almost as sad as he had when they'd sent Norbert away.   
  
"But you can still visit him, Hagrid," Hermione said, encouragingly.   
  
"Yeah," Hagrid said sadly. He poured the tea, and they sat for a moment, sipping their tea and looking at their hands. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.  
  
"So, er, Hagrid," Harry said. "Coming to the quidditch trials?" Hermione, who was no doubt getting a bit tired of hearing about quidditch sighed and leaned her head on her hand.  
  
"When are they?" Hagrid asked.  
  
"Next Tuesday," Ron said.  
  
"Aw," Hagrid said, shaking his head a little. "Wish I could. But I got some importan' business that night."  
  
"For the Order?" Harry asked eagerly.  
  
"Never mind who it's fer," Hagrid said, sipping his tea. Then, suddenly, as though he'd just remembered, "Oh! Harry! How're yeh feelin'?"  
  
"What?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Fine, thanks."  
  
"I heard about yer, eh, thing," he said. "This morning."  
  
"Ah," Harry said. "That. I'm fine, really. Slept it off."  
  
"Yeh need to be careful," Hagrid admonished him. "It's dangerous, pokin' around in You-Know-Who's mind. Yeh could be hurt—or killed—or driven mad."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. "Mad?" she said.  
  
"So I've heard," Hagrid said.  
  
Harry just quietly sipped his tea. He tried to fight off a vision of Ron and Hermione coming to visit him in the special ward at St. Mungo's. He could see himself perched on a bed between Lockhart and the furry-haired witch, staring vacantly into space as the boisterous nurse said, "Look, Harry! You've got visitors!"  
  
He shook off the vision and frowned. Harry had a gift—a powerful gift. He could spy on Voldemort, and be left feeling fine except for a slightly tender scar and a bit of weariness. And yet everyone was insisting that he not do it, just because of a chance that it could be dangerous. He thought he understood how Sirius had felt last year, while he was cooped up in Grimmauld Place when he could have been out fighting. As the conversation turned to Care of Magical Creatures classes, and how fascinating Hermione found the spirit creatures they were studying, Harry stared at his hands. He watched the sunlight play across the tiny ruby embedded in the black onyx.  
  
He thought of Sirius.  
  
***********************  
  
Reviewer responses.  
  
godrick_gal: Welcome to the story! Hope you stick with us. Thanks for the compliment! I'm sure it can be improved, though—no one's perfect!  
  
Ryanaven: Good eye for detail! Yes, I have rather read the books a lot. When I first moved to Japan, before I found the local English bookstore, all I had for company was my HP boxed set. I think I can recite PoA from memory… Enjoy the clue hunting. (mwahaha) How I love to draw out the suspense until the end and torment everyone! What bliss.  
  
Sasinak: Yes, who is that darn spy? A question that will haunt us for some time, I'm afraid…  
  
Sab: Thanks!  
  
Iavala: Thank you. Sorry to have kept you waiting!  
  
Dshaky: I must confess, you threw me for a loop here. I read some Piers Anthony back in junior high school. I liked his Incarnations series, but there's nothing like that in there, so I guessed you were referring to a Xanth thing. I like the first 3 or 4 Xanth books, but I don't think much of them after that. I couldn't remember anything like Mira's linguistic difficulties, so I did some web research and found out that in later Xanth books there's a demon who mixes up her words. *sigh* It's too late for me to go back and change things (and I don't really want to anyway), so all I can say is that it was entirely coincidental. Not that I expect you to believe me… So, I'll just say that there is a specific REASON why Mira mixes up words, a reason that has to do with who she is and where she came from. The trait is based on a personal experience, not another writer. I would never be so cheap. But thanks for pointing it out.  
  
Wynjara: Hopefully things have cleared up a bit! I remember finals brain-drain all too well…  
  
Wiccan Pussy Kat: Yes! Yes! Here is the next chapter! And I promise not to leave you hanging again for a good long while. If it's any consolation, I used the time well… :)  
  
Is the chocolate evil? Is Mira evil? Or is she just an innocent with a few weird tendencies? Only time will tell…  
  
No, Hestia was attacked in her own home, where she was laid up with a cold. As to whether or not Voldemort knows the location of Grimmauld Place, don't for that it's protected by the Fidelius charm. If Kreacher couldn't tell the Malfoys in Book 5, I doubt that Mira (if she is a Death Eater) could tell Voldie where it is either. He'd have to hear it from Dumbledore, or he'd never be able to find it. Of course, that leaves the question of how Mira got past the charm if she didn't really hear it from Dumbledore like she says…  
  
You like Harry torture? Poor Harry! I always get very angry when he gets cruciatus-ed, but not so much as when it's someone else… like, say, Neville.  
  
Yes, I like to put the exciting stuff at the end of the chapter wherever I can. (Tricky for the next few, though) Especially when you "publish" in a serial format like this. It makes sure my readers keep coming back. :)  
  
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to another nice, hefty review. 


	12. McGonagall's Private Lessons

******Author's note: Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. There are two reasons: 1) I got rid of the original chapter 13 and split its contents between 12 and 14 and 2) I'm sick. *cough cough, sniff sniff* And it's snowing again. Anyway, it's the longest chapter yet, so hopefully that'll make up for the wait. Enjoy! Neoepiphany*****  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
McGonagall's Private Lessons  
  
Ron was right; he and Harry had no trouble getting their homework finished on Sunday. It was a pleasant change after last year, when he constantly felt like he was drowning in homework. Fred and George had told the truth when they said that OWL year was the worst.  
  
The three of them, plus Ginny and Neville, went to sit beside the lake and enjoy the warm weather and sunshine while they did their homework. It was a cloudy day, but still nice enough for writing essays and practicing conjuring charms. Hermione helped them with their conjuring, and, by the end of it, they'd all managed to conjure a handful of toothpicks and at least one pencil. Hermione, of course, had advanced to spoons and forks, which she conjured with increasingly pretty decorative handles. Ginny, meanwhile, was working on vanishing, and used her wand to disappear the piles of broken toothpicks, lumps of ash, and crumbly bits of driftwood that appeared when they didn't quite make it.  
  
Classes on Monday weren't too bad, either. In Care of Magical Creatures, they were still working with the wailers. Apparently, the wailers would respond to certain verbal commands, and they were supposed to try and communicate with them. Unfortunately, the wailers only shrieked louder when they were given commands they didn't wish to follow, and by the end of the class, the only verbal command that anyone was trying was "Shut up." They had been prepared for another day of trying to reverse Tonks's curses in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but she had decided to move on to something new. They spent the class studying different types of defensive wards, and Tonks told them that they'd be constructing and testing wards over the next few lessons.   
  
That night was the first meeting of the DA. Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed up to the Room of Requirement at a few minutes before seven. Everything was as they'd left it, with the dark detectors on the front wall, and the squashy cushions around the floor. Hermione immediately returned to her reading (her bookmark was still where she'd left it before their last meeting was broken up), and Ron started to poke around the dark detectors, paying particular attention to the Foe Glass.  
  
Luna Lovegood was the first to arrive. She had pulled her long hair into a loose bun, which was bursting out of the elastic holding it, and stuck her wand through it for safekeeping. "Oh, hello," she said, almost as though she'd been surprised to find them there. "I'm very pleased about the first meeting."  
  
"Me too," Harry grinned.  
  
"I hope you don't mind," Luna went on, "but I invited another Ravenclaw. Orla Quirke was asking about things, so I just invited her along. I didn't think it would be a problem anymore."  
  
"Er," Harry said, initially alarmed. He had to calm himself down through an act of will. Umbridge is gone, he reminded himself. Voldemort's back, and we're allowed to meet.  
  
"Sure, Luna, that's fine."  
  
As it turned out, Luna wasn't the only one who'd brought a friend. Even though many of their number had finished school last year and others, namely Cho's curly haired friend Marietta, had just left, the room was even fuller than it had been before. Most of the newcomers were younger Gryffindors, but there were a handful of new Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well.  
  
"Wow," Harry said, surveying the crowd of eager faces staring back at him. "I didn't expect so many new people."  
  
"Don't be daft, Harry," Ginny said. "Everyone wants to be able to defend themselves from the dark wizards. We'll all take whatever help we can get."  
  
"Yes, but how did so many people know about the meeting?" Hermione said. "Umbridge may be gone, but I don't think it'll do us any good to go around advertising what we're doing here!"  
  
There was a lot of nodding from former DA members. "Maybe we should sign another sheet of parchment," Ron suggested.  
  
"Well," Hermione hesitated. "It's not quite that serious. Anymore," she qualified.  
  
"I think it's up to every one of us to exercise discretion," Ernie Macmillan said, his chest swelling pompously. "At some point, we may, for some reason, be forced to reveal the nature of these meetings to others, but, unless that time comes, we must endeavor to remain secretive." Ron rolled his eyes.   
  
"Er, right, Ernie," Harry said.  
  
"A little discretion wouldn't hurt, though," Cho Chang piped up. "Maybe we should make a rule. Anyone who's already brought a friend needs to keep quiet about meetings. Only one newcomer per person."  
  
There were more nods. "Okay. We're all agreed?" Hermione said. "Raise your hand if you're for passing the rule. One invite per person." Hands went up, and Hermione counted. "Passed," she said.  
  
"Great," Harry said. "That's settled, then. Well, shall we get on with it? I think that maybe since it's been a while, and especially since we've got so many new people, we should go back over what we've already covered. Kind of a review."  
  
"Not again," Zacharias Smith muttered under his breath. "I could've been writing my potions essay. OUCH!" He spun around, holding his backside.  
  
"Oooh, sorry, Zacharias," Ginny said, smiling sweetly. "I slipped off my cushion." Ron snorted.  
  
"Like I was saying… Let's start with the Disarming charm and work our way back up to the Patronus. Those of you who've been here for a while can show the newcomers what to do," he said. "Split into pairs, and if this is your first meeting, try to pair up with someone who's got some experience."  
  
Harry expected to pair up with Neville, but he latched on to a wide-eyed friend of Dennis Creevey, and went to work showing him the finer points of Expelliarmus. Harry grinned, and wandered around the room, correcting incantations and demonstrating things where he needed to.  
  
By eight forty-five, only a few people had made it all the way back to the Patronus charm. Hermione, who had partnered with Natalie MacDonald, had managed to get that far. Her silvery otter was dancing around her while she showed Natalie how to do the incantation. The third-year had only managed silver vapor so far, but seemed fairly determined. Padma Patil was showing her Patronus to her partner who was admiring it gleefully. Harry hated to break up the meeting, but if they didn't get back to their common rooms soon, they'd all be in trouble with Filch.  
  
"Ok, everybody!" Harry shouted. "Good work! We'll pick up with the Patronus next week. Oh, and we'll get all the new people a copy of the galleon with the meeting dates on it." He pulled out the Marauder's Map and sent them on their way in groups of three or four. Even though they weren't exactly in hiding, he thought it was still best to play it safe.  
  
As they headed back to the common room, Hermione smiled at Harry. "That was really good again, Harry. You handled that really well."  
  
"Thanks," Harry smiled back.  
  
"Yeah, can't wait for next week," Ron added.  
  
The renewed success of the DA gave Harry a warm, happy feeling that lasted all night. He and Ron stayed up late, teaching the mini quidditch team a variety of exciting moves. When he went to bed that night, it was with a feeling of relief, of belonging, of accomplishing something. If nothing else, Harry was at least helping his fellow students to learn how to fight for themselves.  
  
The following morning's Daily Prophet took a big bite out of his happiness, however.  
  
"Body of Missing Ministry Witch Found in Ireland!" proclaimed the headline.  
  
"That'll be Hestia, then," Harry said with mock disinterest, taking a big bite of porridge.  
  
Hermione, to whom the paper belonged, read aloud.  
  
"The body of Hestia Jones, missing since last Friday evening, has been recovered outside a church near Galway, Ireland. Jones was found after an anonymous owl with a map to the dump site was received by investigators. It is believed that the body was disposed of near the church, but the actual murder took place in an unknown location.  
  
"Arthur Weasley, friend and coworker of Jones, spoke to reporters shortly after her body was found. 'Hestia Jones was a fine woman, a good witch, and a lifelong opponent of the dark wizards. Her loss is not only a tragedy for the ministry, but for the entire wizarding world. Those who never knew her are the worse off for never discovering her sense of humor, her endless curiosity, and her unshakable belief in the importance of doing good for others.'  
  
"The ministry further stated that there is little doubt that Jones's murderers were working under the instructions of none other than He-who-must-not-be-named, himself."  
  
A picture of Hestia, taken some time before her disappearance, graced the bulk of the front page. When Hermione dropped the paper, the little photographic Hestia began smiling and waving at everyone around the table.  
  
Snape was unusually quiet in Potions that day, and, when he came around to mark their progress on the polyjuice potion, Harry thought that he looked exhausted. His face was paler than usual, which made the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more strongly. Harry imagined that Snape had been out late with the Death Eaters, possibly helping to move Hestia's body, or to plan some new attack. He wondered for a moment if it had been Snape who sent the anonymous owl to the ministry, and he almost felt sympathetic. Almost.  
  
"Once again, Potter," Snape said, prodding their potion with his wand, "you've failed to get this up to the consistency I would expect from NEWT level students. Even Granger can't make you get it right." He clucked his tongue, and walked away, his wand scrabbling on his parchment.  
  
Hermione's face was red. "That horrible man," she murmured to herself. "It's absolutely perfect, and he knows it. He's just determined to be unfair. That horrible, horrible man."  
  
Harry swallowed his guilt. "Sorry," he muttered.  
  
Hermione looked mortified. "Oh, no, Harry—it's not your fault! I don't blame you at all," she said quickly. "Don't feel bad. It's just Snape. He's determined to be awful, that's all."  
  
But Harry knew that if she had partnered with anyone else, she'd be getting perfect marks every lesson. He'd be getting zeros, of course, but that was beside the point. He vowed silently that he'd make it up to Hermione somehow.  
  
The week stretched by, and at last, it was Thursday. He didn't really know what to expect from his lessons with McGonagall, and to be honest, he was dreading them from the moment he got up that morning. The gray, rainy weather didn't help his mood at all, either. At breakfast, he received a note from a fat screech owl.  
  
"Mr. Potter,  
  
I will expect you in the Transfiguration room at 7 o'clock sharp. Bring your wand.  
  
McGonagall."  
  
Ron read the note over his shoulder. "You could always fake sick. Fred and George sent along one of their skiving snackboxes. We could give you a nosebleed or something."  
  
"She'd see right through it," Harry sighed. "Anyway, I'd just have to go again next week. There's no escape."  
  
"She is trying to help, Harry," Hermione said. "She just wants to help you become an auror, that's all. Anyway," she leaned forward, "with all the Death Eaters and things running around, I should think you'd be happy about McGonagall helping you learn to defend yourself."  
  
"That's exactly what she said," Harry grimaced.  
  
He managed to make it through Herbology without incident, although Hermione's dragon-hide glove was eaten by an over-eager Ravenous Snapping-fern. "That was my only pair, too," she moaned. "And the first Hogsmeade weekend is over a month away."  
  
Potions wasn't too much better for Hermione. There wasn't much to do in today's lesson. Things mostly just had to stew for a while, an in the next lesson, they'd be actually testing out their potions. They were supposed to make last-minute corrections of mistakes, additions that they'd forgotten, and so on, but, thanks to their experience with the potion, Harry knew that he and Hermione had made it perfectly, and had nothing to worry about or correct. That didn't stop Snape from taking away half their marks for the day for "doing nothing."  
  
Transfiguration was as difficult as ever. Harry had satisfactorily conjured a pencil, so McGonagall had started him on teacups. Hermione, meanwhile, had moved up to more complex compound-objects, and was currently working on conjuring a quill and inkpot. McGonagall gave them homework for the weekend ("Fourteen inches on the benefits and drawbacks of real versus conjured items, and in what situations each would be better.") As they left, McGonagall shouted, "Don't forget about our lesson this evening, Potter. I'll expect you to be on time." Harry felt his ears and the back of his neck heat up, and he knew he was blushing.  
  
That, unfortunately, wasn't the least of his embarrassment. Malfoy was standing in the hallway, surrounded by his usual small crowd of Slytherins.  
  
"What's this Potter?" Malfoy smirked. "Now you have to take remedial transfiguration, too? And I thought remedial potions was bad enough!"  
  
"I'm not taking remedial anything," Harry snapped back.  
  
"Then why the extra lessons, Potty?" Pansy Parkinson said shrilly.  
  
"So that I can fight Death Eater scum like his father," Harry snapped.  
  
There was a collective gasp in the hallway. The Slytherins began muttering angrily, giving Harry murderous looks. Even a few of the Gryffindors seemed to think that this was hitting below the belt. Harry didn't much care. He was almost hoping that Draco would pull out his wand.  
  
"My father—" he began.  
  
"Is in Azkaban, where he belongs," Ron snapped back, smirking slightly. "How's it feel, Draco? Not being able to call on Daddy's muscle any more—must be hard on you. All that money's not doing you a bit of good now everybody knows what you are."  
  
Draco's face reddened. Without a word, he slipped his hand into his robes, and whipped out his wand.  
  
"Don't, Draco," one of the Slytherins hissed.  
  
"What's the matter, Draco?" Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you scared? Come on, then. Give it your best shot."  
  
Harry had never seen Ron looking so confident and unintimidated. He realized for the first time that Ron, who had always been gangly and thin, had begun to grow into himself a bit. He looked less skinny and awkward, and more like Bill, and was now much bigger and taller than skinny, average-height Draco. Draco seemed to notice this too. He backed off a step before speaking in his usual, nasty drawl.  
  
"I can handle the Weasel King," Draco scowled. "It's just a question of which curse—"  
  
"Snape!" Hermione hissed. Sure enough, Harry could just see Snape's head over the crowd of Slytherins who were blocking the hallway. He quickly ducked behind a pair of Gryffindor fifth-years who had stopped to watch the show. No use standing around, giving Snape an excuse to take house points from Ron. Harry stood, just out of view, but he could see what was going on through the space between the two girls in front of him.  
  
"What's going on here?" he demanded. His eyes took in the scene. Harry noticed that he scanned the crowd for a moment longer than seemed necessary—no doubt looking for Harry himself. He gave Ron a cold, calculating look, but Ron braved it very well, staring right back at him. "Draco, put your wand away," Snape said at last. "The rest of you, get to class."  
  
With a few disappointed murmurs, the crowd of Gryffindors and Slytherins split apart, hurrying in opposite directions toward their common rooms and next classes. Harry and Ron said goodbye to Hermione, and headed back to their dormitory, where they dropped off their books.  
  
"Too wet for quidditch," Ron said, glumly.  
  
"We can plan the trials," Harry suggested. Ron perked right up, and they went down to the common room and claimed the two most comfortable chairs near the fire. Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and began making a timetable while Ron described all the try outs from the last year again. The afternoon passed all too quickly, and it seemed only moments had passed before Hermione appeared, back from class and they hurried down to dinner.  
  
Harry said goodbye to Hermione and Ron at a few minutes before seven, and left the Great Hall headed for the Transfiguration room. The room was dark; he had arrived before McGonagall even. He lit the lights and sat down at a desk to wait.  
  
He didn't have to wait long. After a few seconds, McGonagall swept into the room, carrying a heavy cauldron stuffed with vials and parcels. "Right on time, Potter! Good," she said, dropping the cauldron on a desk. "Any questions before we start?"  
  
"Er," Harry said, frowning. "No. Not yet, anyway."  
  
McGonagall gave him a calculating look, and nodded curtly. She moved in front of him. "As I promised, we're going to work on whatever is needed to get you work up to scratch to be an auror," she said briskly. "Now, I think we needn't worry about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tonks—" McGonagall pursed her lips slightly, "is a very qualified teacher and I have no doubt that she'll get you caught up there. What we should concentrate on are your charms and potions." She frowned slightly. "Your marks in Charms are fair enough, and you did well on your OWL. Potions, however, is another story. Professor Snape went out of his way this afternoon to tell me how you're barely scraping by—"  
  
"What?" Harry couldn't stop himself from blurting out. "Professor—our potion is good—" he protested.  
  
"Yes, I went and had a look at it," McGonagall said, her lips thin. "But Professor Snape insists that you've gotten a lot of help from Hermione Granger."  
  
"Of course I have," Harry said angrily. "She's my partner."  
  
McGonagall chose to ignore this comment. "I have it from Professor Snape that the next potion you'll be covering is the Energizing draught. That's a tricky one, but if you can do the Draft of Peace, you can manage it."  
  
Harry nodded. "We did the Draft of Peace last year."  
  
"Good," said McGonagall. "Then you should be fine for the time being and we can move on."  
  
"What—aren't we going to practice the Energizing draft?" Harry said, surprised.  
  
"No, Potter," McGonagall said, raising an eyebrow. "I brought you here to help you to become an auror, not to tutor you in Potions."  
  
Harry felt his cheeks grow hot.  
  
"What I am going to teach you is how to make a basic truth serum. While I'm not as well versed in making such serums as Professor Snape, I think I teach you a few basics. You'll never pass the initial tests for auror training unless you are competent with truth serums and their counters."  
  
"We're doing truth serums?" Harry said disbelieving. "I thought those were regulated by the ministry!"  
  
"Veritaserum is regulated by the ministry, but we certainly aren't starting there," McGonagall said. "There are less potent serums that it is useful to know, and it is even more useful to know their antidotes."  
  
"Antidotes?" Harry said.  
  
"That's right," McGonagall nodded. "Many aurors take truth serum antidotes before going into dangerous situations, just in case they are captured and questioned by dark wizards. Now, the first thing we'll be doing is a basic Candor Concoction. You'll find the instructions—" she flicked her wand, and a small piece of paper fluttered down onto the desk in front of Harry "—on this card. It should take you about half an hour to complete. I'll be at my desk if you have any questions."  
  
McGonagall seated herself and immersed herself in a large and heavy tome, from which she was taking notes on an impressively long piece of parchment. Harry stared for a moment at the card, which was copied out in McGonagall's own prim handwriting. He didn't know how to start.  
  
"Come along, Potter, we haven't got all night. There are two more to do after this one," McGonagall said without looking up.  
  
Harry stood, and hefted the cauldron onto a nearby desk, where he used his wand to light a small fire underneath. He looked at the card.  
  
"Boil a handful of lovage seeds in water for precisely five minutes. In a separate container, toss twenty five shredded shrivelfigs with essence of belladonna so that each one is completely covered…"  
  
Harry silently got to work on the potion. It wasn't a particularly difficult one, but it did require a lot of careful timing. Although he thought that McGonagall was ignoring him, she did occasionally call out instructions without looking up. "I think those tarantula fangs have simmered long enough," or "No, Potter! The daisy root goes in before the grated octopus tentacle!"  
  
Finally, Harry had completed the final instruction on the card, and the potion had turned into pale yellow liquid, roughly the consistency of cream. "I think I'm done, Professor," he said.  
  
McGonagall stood up, and walked over to the potion, which she inspected critically. "Not bad for a first attempt. The color is a bit too yellow—it should be more of an off-white—but I think we can give it a try," McGonagall said. She grabbed an empty vial off of a nearby desk and filled it from the cauldron. She held it out at arm's length. "Here."  
  
"Me?" Harry flushed. "You want me to drink it, Professor?" Harry didn't feel comfortable being fed a truth serum, especially having seen the effects of one in person. The last thing he wanted to do was spill all his secrets to Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Don't be silly, boy," she said, thrusting out the potion again. "It's only a Candor Concoction, not veritaserum. You're not going to start spouting out your every secret. Take a drink."  
  
Harry reached out unsteadily, and grabbed the glass. He held it to his mouth and smelled the slightly spicy odor wafting from it. Quickly, he gulped down a mouthful. It tasted like peppers.  
  
"What's on your mind, Potter?" McGonagall asked.  
  
"Who's the spy in the Order?" Harry blurted out. Horrified with himself, he clamped his hand over his mouth. Although he'd been idly wondering about that ever since his vision, he hadn't meant to ask McGonagall about it.  
  
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but her eyes twinkled slightly. "Yes, that seems strong enough. Good work. The antidote is on the back of the card. You can get to work on that now. Evanesco!" She vanished the rest of the potion from the cauldron.  
  
"Er, Professor," Harry began. As long as he'd already asked, he might as well go for it. "Do you know who the spy is?"  
  
"Why so concerned, Potter?" McGonagall said, looking down at him severely.  
  
"Because I think it's Mira," Harry blurted out again. He clapped his hand over his mouth again. He vowed not to say another word until the candor concoction had worn off.  
  
"Mira? Mira McKinney? The housekeeper?" McGonagall said. "What makes you think that?"  
  
"Because she's lying about something," Harry said through the hand clamped over his mouth. He clamped the other hand over it as well.  
  
McGonagall half-smiled, but when she spoke, her voice retained its usual, brisk air. "I have no idea who the spy is," she said. "But you needn't concern yourself about it. We have plenty of people in the Order working on it. And Mira McKinney may be a lot of things, but I doubt very much that she's a spy for He-who-must-not-be-named," McGonagall finished.  
  
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.  
  
"Now get to work on that antidote," she said, still half-smiling. "I daresay you need it."  
  
Before McGonagall finally let him go, he had brewed the antidote and another type of truth serum (an Honesty Elixir) and they had tested all three. McGonagall warned him that there was no antidote to the second truth serum, but it would wear off overnight, and advised him to avoid talking to too many people before bed.  
  
"I'll see you again in a month," McGonagall said briskly. Harry felt a sudden surge of relief. A month? He had thought they'd have to meet every week! "But until then," McGonagall went on, "I want you to practice your charms and potions. And," she said, picking up the huge book she'd been taking notes from earlier, "I want you to study the charms in this book. At our next session, I want you to be prepared to perform all the charms in the first fifteen chapters."  
  
"What?" Harry said, his eyes widening. "You're giving me extra homework?"  
  
"If you're serious about your ambition," McGonagall said, "then it will be a pleasure, won't it?"  
  
Harry took the heavy book, "Charms, Spelles, and Enchantmentes for a Wary Wizarde." Harry had seen it once before, in the Restricted Section of the library.   
  
"Don't look so despondent, Potter," she said, her voice a bit softer. "I'm sure you'll find it interesting reading, and no doubt you can incorporate a lot of what you learn in there into your defense club meetings."  
  
Harry's eyes widened. "You know about—?"  
  
"Professor Tonks told me she gave you all permission," Professor McGonagall said, "so you needn't worry." Harry couldn't help but notice the way her lips had narrowed as she said this, but it vanished quickly as she returned her attention to the charms book. "If you get too stuck with the charms, I'm sure your friends—Miss Granger in particular—would love to help you." She glanced down at her watch, and made a sweeping motion toward the door. "You'd better hurry back to the common room, now, it's almost nine o'clock." She shooed Harry toward the door. "One month. And good luck with the quidditch tryouts."  
  
"Good night, Professor," Harry said. He trudged back to the common room, the heavy tome clutched in his arms. The hallways were eerily silent tonight, totally absent of the usual students hurrying back to their common rooms from the library or their clubs. He had to wake the Fat Lady, who seemed to have succumbed to the drowsy silence of the school and drifted off to sleep in her frame. He found the common room still full of people and activity. Hermione and Ron were sitting together at the same table they'd sat at together, talking, the night Hestia had disappeared. Hermione had her copy of "Numerology and Grammatica" propped up in front of her as her quill zipped across a piece of parchment. Ron, meanwhile, had pushed his copy of "Advanced Transfiguration Techniques" to the side, and was playing a game of chess against himself. Harry crossed the room, and sunk into the cozy leather armchair beside them, pushing the spell book onto the table beside Ron's.  
  
"Harry!" Ron said, looking up from his rather excited chess pieces. "How'd it go?"  
  
Harry sighed. "It was grueling. I had to brew two different truth potions, and one antidote, and drink the lot. And she gave me extra homework. I have to learn all the charms in the first fifteen chapters of that," he nodded at the huge, leather-bound tome.  
  
McGonagall had been right when she said that Hermione would be interested in the charms book. As soon as her eyes darted over the peeling letters on the cover, she let out a squeal of delight. "'Charms, Spelles, and Enchantmentes!'" she cried, her face lit up as though Christmas had come early. "I can't believe it! Do you know what this is?"  
  
He wanted to mutter something along the lines of "yes, it's a great big pain in the neck," but the lingering effects of the Honesty Elixir made him blurt out, "No."  
  
"I've seen it, of course, in the restricted section," she said, half to herself. "It's considered the definitive text on advanced charm work—it's the original source for half the spells in the seventh year Charms textbook! This is one of the most famous—"  
  
"I think we get the idea, Hermione," Ron interrupted her.  
  
"You can have a look, if you like," Harry said, nudging the book toward Hermione.  
  
"Thanks," she said, pulling it toward her.  
  
"Look at her," Ron said, making a face as though he were nauseous. "Getting so excited over a spell book."  
  
"Not just any spell book, Ron," Hermione said without looking up from the huge table of contents. This is–"  
  
"The definitive work, yeah, you said," Ron said back. Hermione, however, was too preoccupied to rise to his baiting; she just shrugged and flipped to the first chapter. Ron stretched, pulling his arms high up over his head. "I'm starving. Wish we had something to eat."  
  
"Yeah, me too," Harry said frowning. Brewing all those potions had taken a lot out of him, and he was tired and hungry.  
  
"What about your chocolates?" Hermione said, still not looking up from the book.  
  
"What?" Harry said.  
  
"The chocolates Mira sent you. You have those," Hermione said.  
  
"Oh yeah," Harry said. "I'd completely forgotten." With everything else going on, the box of sweets that Mira had sent had slipped his mind. "I'll go and get them, then," he said.  
  
He had shoved the box under his bed, where it was out of his way. He dropped to his knees and pulled it out. As he carried it downstairs, he wondered how he could have forgotten it; the rich, sugary smell of the peanut-butter fudge bars was intoxicating. He crossed the crowded room, and sat the box down next to Ron's chess board. A crowd of captured pawns jumped out of the, glaring angrily at Harry.  
  
"Here you go," Harry said, pulling off the lid. A few days in storage didn't seem to have hurt the fudge bars; they looked every bit as fresh and gooey as they had when they'd arrived. The aroma was overpowering; a lot of people were turning around, sniffing for the source of the sumptuous smell. Harry reached in to take one, but hesitated, and grabbed a chocolate frog instead. Ron was also eyeing the fudge bars warily; he took the bag of Every Flavor Beans.  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Hermione, who despite all appearances to the contrary, seemed to have been watching them. "I very much doubt she's poisoned the chocolate."  
  
"It's not that," Ron snapped back. "It just doesn't feel right, does it?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "They just give me a bad feeling," he agreed. "Like anything could be in there."  
  
Hermione sighed. "I'll eat one, if you want proof they aren't poisoned."  
  
Ron scowled. "Maybe we could feed one to Crookshanks," he suggested.  
  
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, defensively. "He's a cat! You can't feed a cat chocolate. It's not good for them. Anyway, you're just being silly."  
  
She was probably right; probably, Mira wasn't the spy, and she had just wanted to send him a little treat. She had probably spent hours making those fudge bars—and no doubt dropped and recovered at least three foreign objects from the batter—and was even now sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, thinking happily of Harry and his friends eating them. Probably. All the same, Harry felt safest sticking to the chocolate frogs.  
  
After a moment, Dean Thomas came over, flanked by Seamus and Neville. "Is that what smells so good?" he asked, eyeing the fudge bars. "You're lucky, Harry—my parents never send sweets."  
  
Neville licked his lips. "Do you have any to spare? I'll trade you a chocolate frog if you like."  
  
"Er," Harry said. Just as he was hesitant to eat them himself, he was hesitant to give them to his friends either.  
  
Ron looked furtively up at Dean. He grabbed the basket out of the box, and thrust it at Neville. "Here, take it. We're not going to eat any."  
  
"What—really?" exclaimed Dean. "It's okay, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Enjoy. We've got the chocolate frogs."  
  
Harry felt a little bit guilty and a little bit stupid, all at the same time. Ron caught his eye and shrugged as Harry watched his chocolate being consumed around the room. He knew he was only being foolish—even if Mira were a spy, she wouldn't have tried anything so irrational and obvious as sending him poisoned sweets—but as he climbed the steps to the boy's dormitory that night, he couldn't shake a nagging, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked over his shoulder at his friends, munching on the gooey confections as they worked on their homework, and wondered for a fleeting moment how many of them would be sick in the morning.  
  
**************  
  
Reader Responses:  
  
Scorpion Lord: I promise, there's lots of action coming up VERY SOON. There's a very exciting fight coming up very very soon. As to the rest of your questions, alas, no answers yet. I can't tell without giving big, important things away! I will, however, point out that Harry had stopped dreaming before he got the ring (in chapter one he woke from a dreamless sleep)  
  
Iniysa: I hope that Harry keeps out of Voldie's head too, but you know how thickheaded that boy can be. Especially when he thinks he's right… I guess we'll just have to wait and see.  
  
FireyMoonlight: That darned ring! Such a source of mystery… Also the spy and the names they've collected. Wish I could tell you! Stick with us a few more chapters…  
  
Ah, the Marauders. Did it break your heart when Sirius died? It broke mine. I make no promises as to whether he lives or dies, but Remus does play a very important role in this story (book?).  
  
And yes, I think Voldemort could do those things, except Harry has control of the link. I think that, theoretically, Harry could start giving Voldemort dreams, and Voldemort might start feeling Harry's moods, but Harry should be able to shut him out, the way he has done his dreams. (Let's hope.)  
  
captuniv: I totally agree! I think Snape is a lousy teacher to boot. But, I don't think Harry would give Snape the satisfaction of going over his head.  
  
Astronut: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can't believe I did that. What an idiot I feel. Especially after carefully checking practically every other spelling before I wrote it down. Some interesting trivia: McGonagall's name appears 95 times in the entire text (including unpublished chapters). It appears at least once in every chapter except chapter 3. Chapter 5 is the shortest. Chapter 12 is the longest (so far).  
  
Charlie Magnus: Thanks.  
  
godrick_gal: Thanks! I like the evolving fluffblasters too. I want one. I wish I could set it loose, here in my office. I can just imagine it swimming in the vice-principal's coffee mug, and then turning into a furry volleyball and hiding with the spare PE equipment. *longing sigh*  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: THE CHOCOLATE IS EVIL! THE CHOCOLATE IS EVIL!!  
  
Sorry to keep you waiting! And it's not that I don't like Harry-torture, it just makes me very angry. I want to… to… smite people. With lightning bolts.  
  
Wynjara: Very astute, all around. And that was the fastest review I've ever gotten. Amazing. 


	13. Gryffindor Quidditch

****Author's Note: Here it is, the long awaited Quidditch Trials! Whoo hoo! This chapter marks our entry into what I would call "Act 2" of the fic… I suppose it's a book now… Anyway, Act 2 promises answers to current mysteries, and much more action.  
  
Enjoy,  
  
Neoepiphany****  
  
Chapter Thirteen  
  
Gryffindor Quidditch  
  
Harry awoke the next morning to find the empty basket that had housed Mira's fudge bars propped up on his nightstand, beside his glasses. Despite his worries, no one had had any ill effects from the treats, and Harry felt both stupid and cheated out of some Mira's gooey junk food.  
  
They had an uneventful week, the most exciting event of which was the potions lesson in which they finally tried the Polyjuice potion. It made a lot of people unusually giggly to see themselves looking like their partners. Malfoy looked like Pansy Parkinson, which Harry would have found incredibly funny if he hadn't been wearing Hermione's face at the time. Still, nobody looked more sullen than Ron and Parvati Patil, who were both staring at the other, horrified. Thankfully, the effects wore off of most people by the time Snape had finished marking the class, and only a few people had to go to their next class looking like their partners.  
  
The second DA meeting of the semester went well, despite the fact that Harry's stomach was full of pre-quidditch jitters. He felt as excited as he did before a match, even though he knew he had much less to worry about than the people trying out. It was his first real test as captain, and he was anxious about everything coming off smoothly.  
  
It was agony sitting through all their classes on Tuesday. Harry checked the time so often that he was sure his watch was broken. At last, classes ended, and Harry and Ron had time to make a few last-minute plans before dinner. They had decided to make a try-out form, like the one Ron described Angelina handing out last year, so they wrote out a handful of questions on a piece of parchment, and, when Hermione got back from class, she showed them a charm to make the paper duplicate itself. They quickly grabbed sandwiches and ran toward the quidditch pitch. They had planned to arrive almost a full hour early so that the pitch would be empty while they made their preparations for the try outs. To their surprise, they weren't the only ones on the field. Ginny, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were sitting in the Gryffindor section, eating sandwiches of their own and chatting animatedly.  
  
"Come to support Ginny?" Ron said, as they walked toward the group. He and Harry sat down in front of them to eat their own sandwiches.  
  
"No," Seamus grinned. "Here to try out."  
  
"What—all of you?" Ron sputtered.  
  
"Absolutely, mate," Dean said, now grinning himself. "It's a beater's life for me."  
  
"I am definitely not trying out," Neville interrupted. "I'm not too keen on flying, you see." He grinned sheepishly.  
  
"That's okay," Seamus said. "When we're all on the team, you can be our official groupie." Neville grinned.  
  
Ron, however, was giving Dean a calculating look. "I thought that you were a muggle football supporter," he said accusingly.  
  
"Still am," Dean said, swallowing his last bite of sandwich. "But—well, I saw our beaters last season, and I thought I could do better than that. Anyway, I've always been a quidditch supporter too."  
  
"Well, good luck," Harry said, cutting Ron off before he opened his mouth again. "Of course—you know, we can't put you on the team unless you're the best for the position. I don't want to hurt anyone's—"  
  
"Leave it out, Harry," Dean said.  
  
"Yeah, we don't expect you to pick us just because we're your friends," Ginny added. "We want to win, not just be on the team."  
  
"Then just good luck," Harry said grinning. He stood up, and nodded toward Ron, who was looking a bit glum. "We have to go set things up. See you in a bit."  
  
"Yeah, bye," Ginny said. She looked flushed with excitement.  
  
Harry and Ron went down to the dressing room where they had stored the targets and things they had spent the weekend enchanting.  
  
"I can't believe that Dean and Seamus are trying out, too," Ron said.  
  
"Yeah, I know. Isn't it great? I hope they're good. Seamus is always on about what a great flyer he is," Harry said.  
  
Ron glared at Harry, and Harry realized he was supposed to react differently. He cleared his throat. "Well, of course it is a surprise—" he began, but sighed. "Listen, Ron. You really need to get over this thing with Ginny."  
  
"What thing with Ginny?" Ron snapped.  
  
"The thing where you hate—oh, never mind. But since when do you have a problem with Dean? He's a nice guy, and you liked him perfectly well until Ginny told you she was—"  
  
"That's not true," Ron said fiercely. "I always had my doubts."  
  
Harry thought it would be best to just drop the subject.  
  
They got to work, hauling things out onto the field and arranging them. Once it was all set up, they went back downstairs and sorted out the papers that Hermione had helped them copy. They changed into their full quidditch gear, just like they were preparing for a game.  
  
At five minutes to six, Harry grabbed his Firebolt, Ron took his Cleansweep, and they headed out. The clouds had broken, and the sun was just shining through, giving everything a beautiful, golden hue. There were around twenty people sitting near Ginny, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, most of them looking a bit anxious and clutching their brooms.  
  
"All of you are trying out?" Ron said, raising his eyebrows. There was a mixture of nodding and headshaking in the little crowd, and Harry frowned.  
  
"Let's try it this way," he said. "If you're trying out for chaser, come sit on my left. If you're trying out for beater, sit on the right. And if you're just watching, stay where you are."  
  
There was a lot of movement as people shuffled to the locations Harry had pointed out. Six or Seven people hung around in the stands, moving toward Neville. A few gave their more apprehensive-looking friends a supportive thumbs-up.  
  
Once the group had divided, a small second-year boy was left standing in the middle. He just stared up at Harry with an expression of mixed awe and fear.  
  
"Well? Which is it?" Ron asked in an exasperated tone. "Beater or chaser?"  
  
"Er," the boy said, licking his lips. He smiled in what he clearly thought was a charming way. "Either?" he said tentatively.  
  
Ron let out a snort of annoyance. "Just sit with the chasers now," Harry said. "They'll be going first."  
  
Harry handed out the questionairres, and Ron proudly conjured some pencils. "These are just so that we have the name and information on everyone who tries out," Harry explained. "That way it's nice and fair." Everyone began hastily writing, bearing down on their knees or on the seats behind them.   
  
"Quickly now," Ron said. "We don't have all day." Ginny shot her brother a deeply annoyed look as she filled out the form. A few of Ron's pencils crumbled when they touched the paper, which made Ron's ears flush red, but he and Harry manged to conjure up replacement.  
  
When they had finished, and Ron had collected the forms, Harry addressed the chasers. "Right. Now, the first thing we'll be doing is running a few drills. I want you to get in formation, and we'll pass the ball back and forth. Go as fast as you can." He split the hopefuls into two groups, one of four, and the other of three. Then, as they began the passing drill, he and Ron mounted their brooms, and zipped along behind, making notes about who was good, and who was bad. The second-year boy, who was called Rupert Garlick, dropped the ball every time it was thrown in his direction.  
  
After a moment, Harry had them change to a speed drill, flying back and forth across the pitch in pairs, passing a quaffle between them. Some of them zipped across the pitch, while others barely moved at a snail's pace. Then, he switched to a new drill, where each group tried to prevent the other from scoring. Harry kept note of the best fliers, blockers, and scorers. Last, they had to go one-on-one and try to get the quaffle past Ron, who, perhaps because he was feeling very confident after such a sad showing, was playing exceptionally well.  
  
The beater trials they had borrowed from Angelina's plan the year before. First, the beaters had to hit a series of targets with the same zipping bludger, and Harry took notes about their aim and speed. Then, they moved on to the really difficult drill The beaters were paired off, and the aim was for them to protect their own partner, and hit the other teams. With all the people trying desperately to hit one another with the bludgers, however, this was easier said than done; more than one person had a bloody nose before the end. This went on for a long while as Harry and Ron flew around the edge, watching and taking notes. Finally, Harry called an end to the exercise.  
  
"Right!" he called. "That was very good. Now, let's just run one quick speed drill, and then we'll call it a night." He summoned all of the hopefuls out onto the field, and had them race, relay style, back and forth across the pitch. Rupert ruined the odds for his team when he dropped the quaffle again, putting them well behind the other teams.  
  
When it was over, Harry sent everyone away. "Ron and I need to talk before we can announce anything," he said. "But you all did really well. Don't worry. We'll post the results on the notice board by nine-o-clock."  
  
Smiling, and just as jittery as before, the group dissipated, heading back for the castle. Ron and Harry settled themselves in the Gryffindor section of the stands and began to compare notes. "Chasers first?" Harry suggested.  
  
Ron nodding, flipping through the information sheets. "Who'd you like?" he asked.  
  
"Well, Ginny's in, obviously," Harry said. "She was terrific. Did you see her catch that ball when Rupert dropped it and still score with it? That was brilliant."  
  
"Yeah, she's not bad," Ron said, with a touch of pride. "She got three quaffles past me, and I wasn't going easy on her or anything."  
  
"I know you weren't," Harry grinned. "So who's next?"  
  
"Much as I hate to say it," Ron grimaced, "how about Kirke? He really wasn't half bad."  
  
"Chaser and beater are very different positions," Harry agreed. "And he was pretty good. How many times did he score?"  
  
"Twice against me, and four times in the skirmish," Ron said. "Not bad at all."  
  
"So he's in. Who else?"  
  
Ron tapped his quill against his teeth. "What about that third year girl? The skinny little one with the black hair. What was her name?"  
  
"Er," Harry said, sifting through the papers. "Eva Gregory. But you blocked almost all her shots."  
  
"Not easily," Ron said. "And she was a terrific flyer. Did you see her in the skirmish? She completely outpaced everyone else. We could use her just to pass the quaffle if nothing else."  
  
"Fair enough," Harry said. He hadn't been particularly impressed by any of the others. "She was your favorite?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then she's in," Harry said, jotting down the names. "Well, that was easy. How about the beaters?"  
  
Ron groaned. "What a showing! Did you see that second year boy? Rupert? I think he clobbered himself in the head one time too many."  
  
"You'd think that anyone trying out for two different positions would at least be good at one of them," Harry agreed.  
  
"Seamus wasn't bad," Ron said.  
  
"He was no Weasley," Harry frowned, scanning his notes again. "But you're right, he was the best that showed up."  
  
"He'll be happy," Ron grinned. "He always was a quidditch nut."  
  
"One down, one to go. How about—"  
  
"What about that fourh year girl? Mina Van der Felt? She was decent."  
  
"Yeah, but look at her sheet," Harry said, passing it over. "She rates schoolwork as more important than quidditch. We can't have someone who would skive off practice just because she's behind on her charms homework."  
  
"Oh, right," Ron said. "Er, how about Evan Roter? He wasn't too bad."  
  
"Are you crazy?" Harry said. "He didn't get the bludger within five feet of the target! And, during the drill, he hit his own partner in the head twice."  
  
"But there's really nobody else—"  
  
"Ron," Harry groaned. "Face it. He was the best out there, after Seamus."  
  
"But we can't have him. What if he and Ginny break up?" Ron protested weakly. "The resulting friction in the team could make us lose a critical match."  
  
"Then we'll just have to do our best to keep the two of them together."  
  
Ron scowled and sunk down low on his seat. "Then I guess Dean is in," he muttered.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said, smiling a little. "We'll put the a few people on reserve, too."  
  
He pulled out a big sheet of parchment, and wrote,  
  
"QUIDDITCH TEAM POSITIONS:  
  
Chasers:   
  
Gregory, Eva  
  
Kirke, Andrew  
  
Weasley, Ginny  
  
Beaters:  
  
Finnigan, Seamus  
  
Thomas, Dean.  
  
Reserve:  
  
Van der Felt, Mina  
  
Roter, Evan."  
  
"That ought to do it," Harry said. He and Ron changed back into their regular robes, dropped off their brooms, and headed back to the castle. They slipped through the portrait hole at around eight.  
  
The Gryffindor common room was completely full of people. Most were laughing and talking. It looked like most people had given up any attempt at doing homework amid the din and excitement of the biggest bunch of tryouts for the quidditch team in recet memory. Harry stepped through the portrait hole just before Ron, and immediately, every face turned toward him, a sudden silence falling on the room. Ron entered, bearing the parchment, and everyone watched while he posted it on the board. Everyone remained still just long enough for Harry and Ron to walk away from the notice board. Then, as though they had been jerked toward it by invisible strings, fifteen or so people hurried toward the notice.  
  
"Yes!" shouted Dean, pumping his fist up and down in victory. "We did it! We're in!" he shouted to Seamus, who was at the back of the crowd. Ginny, her face pink with excitement, gave Dean a hug, which made Ron throw her a murderous look.  
  
"Eva! Eva—you did it! You're on the team!" shouted a curly-haired third year boy. Eva, Harry realized, was sitting in a squashy armchair, chatting liesurely with a friend. She barely looked up when her friend shouted.  
  
"Did I?" she said in a smooth voice, a small, satisfied smile breaking her face, and her cheeks pinking. "Well. I knew I could do it."  
  
"Oooh," said her friend in a teasing tone, "our little Evadne, on the quidditch team!"  
  
"Eurgh. Call me that again," Eva said, grimacing, "and I will learn new curses just to try them on you."  
  
Her friend laughed and aimed a throw pillow at Eva, who giggled as she ducked it.  
  
"Yes!" said Andrew Kirke, who was standing near the notice board. "I'm back on!"  
  
"Congratulations," Harry said, smiling. He shouted over the noise of the room. "First practice is Saturday morning! Our match against Slytherin is coming up in a little over a month, and we want to win! Good luck, everybody."  
  
A cheer rose up among the Gryffindors, and a few people began to sing "Weasley is Our King," which made Ron's ears turn red, but his smile only widened.  
  
The celebrating in the common room went on for quite a while, with many people congratulating each other with butterbeer toasts and snacks nicked from the kitchens. The Weasley twins' absence was particularly noticeable since, despite the high spirits of the room, no one was spontaneously turning into canaries, or biting into other bizarre homemade trick sweets. Still, this meant that everyone was a little more lax about accepting food from others, a fact that Harry noted for future use. He still had the sack of trick sweets that the twins had given him for his birthday.  
  
After the dozenth time that someone cheered and told Harry that Gryffindor had better win, Harry looked around the room for Hermione, who he hadn't seen since before dinner. He finally spotted her, half hidden in an oversized armchair behind Eva Gregory's friends. She was reading the spellbook that McGonagall had given to Harry.  
  
"Wow," Harry said, looking down at it. "You've really gotten through that." Hermione was already a quarter of the way through the book, reading a page half-filled by a rather gory depiction of a wizard turning into an octopus.  
  
"I can't put it down," Hermione said. "I picked it up just after you two left, and I haven't stopped reading it. There's some really great stuff in Chapter Eight, Harry—all about magic's influence over the mind. It tells you how to modify memories, and how to alter perception!"  
  
"Cool," Harry said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He didn't want to think about the book yet, and, anyway, he had an entire month to learn it.  
  
Ron made a noise of disgust behind him. "Hermione—with all this celebrating going on, how can you possibly sit there reading that?"  
  
"I happen to find it interesting," Hermione said, turning a page. "I could try this one out on you, Ron. The Nemesis Charm—makes an object aggressive toward a target." She smiled at Ron, who scowled at her, and returned to the party. Harry laughed, and walked back over to where Ginny, Dean, and Seamus were toasting one another loudly with butterbeer.  
  
The celebrating lasted until late in the night, when Hermione, after the third complaint from fifth-years who had early study sessions, stood up and ordered everyone to bed. Harry lay in bed, happier than he had been in ages, wishing there were someone he could share his excitement with. As soon as he realized this, though, a pang of sadness welled over him; he wished he could tell Sirius about the tryouts… He would have appreciated Harry's blow-by-blow account of the tryouts. He rolled over, and tried hard to think about something else. He began to plan their practice on Saturday; that occupied his mind until at last, he drifted off to sleep.  
  
**************  
  
Reviewer Responses  
  
To Everybody (from Neo) Ahhhh! The chocolate wasn't evil after all! It was just… chocolate. ;)  
  
Wind Whisperer: Thanks bunches. I love cliff hangers… They ensure you'll come back.  
  
jbfritz: Here you go, more posted as soon as I could manage. I love evil cliffies—they indulge my minorly evil nature. Hope you enjoy!  
  
EriEka127: Thanks. It's good to be loved by an HP-obsessed Slytherin Werewolf. How many people can say that, really?  
  
Drajjen: Thanks so much! I work very hard to follow cannon, to the point that I double-check absolutely everything in the books, or (when I'm at work) the HP Lexicon (fanfic writer's best-friend). Good catch about the Death Eaters! You're right—Hermione, Harry, and all have forgotten. But I haven't. ;) They will be reminded in the next chapter or so, and the solution to that mystery shall rear its ugly head.  
  
Tike: I take umbrage at that remark, buddy! For this to be "the worst fanfic ever" it would require all of the following…  
  
--repeeted and obnokshus spelling misstakes  
  
--ALL CAPS EVERYWHERE ALSO NO PUNCTUATION  
  
--A pregnancy involving Hermione, Ginny, McGonagoll, Winky, etc. etc.  
  
--A slash relationship involving Harry, Draco, Neville, Ron, Snape, Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore, MadEye Moody, etc. in some very unlikely pairing. (Draco and Moody, for example. Or Filch and Neville. Take your pick.)  
  
--Any relationship between people of different generations (a personal pet-peeve) or really incompatible people (Ron and draco? Bellatrix and Harry? Might as well be Aberforth and the Goat.)  
  
--More sex than a University of Florida Dorm building sees in a year.  
  
--Lots of bizarre things happening and no attempt to explain them (I will explain them, we just haven't gotten there yet! It's very soon now.)  
  
--A Mary Sue character  
  
--Really, really bad dialogue ("Wow Harry look its Voldemort" "Wow Ron I see him" "Wow Harry" "Dam it!" "what" "Hermiones snogging draco again")  
  
And while I'm far from perfect, I'm nowhere near topping off the whole list. I mean, even the worst fanfic I've ever read only had 7 out of 9, and I'm sure there are worse ones than that out there.  
  
(Please bear in mind that I'm not knocking all these things—some of the best fanfics I've ever read involved pregnancies, relationships (both slash and otherwise), and so on. But you can't put all of them together—although I'm sure someone will try.)  
  
So, you see, Tike, that is why this could not possibly be the worst fanfic ever.  
  
Of course, since you added this story to your "favorite stories" list, your remark could be intended as ironic. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.  
  
Fubbubbubba to you too.  
  
Scorpion Lord: You're dying for answers? Well, we can't have anyone dying on my account. Very well. ANSWERS!  
  
The chocolate wasn't evil. It was a red herring (or just me having a good tease). Which is good, really, because poisoned candies are so cliched. If Mira is evil, one would hope she'd be more creative. (Ditto for Voldie's other followers.)  
  
When is Peter Pettigrew coming back? We'll see him again in January (Harry's time) although he will play a part in events around the Christmas Holidays, too.  
  
Does it have to be either Pure or Evil? Couldn't it be… Mostly-pure-but-a- little-cranky-on-Tuesdays? Or Evil-with-pure-tendencies? And we can't overlook the possibilities that it's just a ring. Or just a ring with a spell on it. Or just a ring with some kind of power that will manifest itself at a critical moment. Or a cunning link to Sirius beyond the veil which will resurrect him when Harry kills Bellatrix at the end of the fic—although I wouldn't count on that one.  
  
Wynjara: Snape is being a pain, isn't he? Almost like he's.. angry about something…  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: The Chocolate is.... not evil after all.  Oh well.  Although I promise I didn't do it just to make you look like an idiot.  :)  
  
As much as I want you to read my story, don't read it in class!!  I'd hate to be getting angry emails from your teachers...  Especially being a teacher myself, and all.  ;)  
  
Yep, this was the longest.  There's an even longer chapter coming up, too.  
  
Thanks for thinking of me, I'm all better now!!  
  
Enjoy the quidditch tryouts? ;) 


	14. Spelled and Misspelled

****Author's note—This week's double post is in honor of PussyKat, whose Reviewer Response was accidentally cut from the last chapter. (It should be there now!) I hope you enjoy this new chapter!  
  
I'm considering doing some illustrations from the fic, beyond the drawing of Mira (available at http://www.tokkiproject.com/~neoepiphany) If you would be interested in that, please let me know, because I don't wish to bother if no one would look.  
  
Thanks much,  
  
Neoepiphany*****  
  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen  
  
Spelled and Misspelled  
  
Their first quidditch practice as a new team worked out better than Harry had hoped. Since all three of the chasers were new, Harry spent a lot of time forcing them to run drills to get used to flying with one another. Kirke wasn't too bad, although he still had a tendency to get intimidated by the opposition and fly in the opposite direction. Eva Gregory was an impressive flier. She had a new Cleansweep, and she knew how to use it; she could zip around the people on the field, circling them easily. Ginny was pretty good, and, although Ron tended to be much harder on her when she made a mistake, she had a good attitude and spent a lot of time helping her fellow chasers. He insisted on two pracitices a week, the dates of which were constantly readjusted as the balmy, late-summer weather became chillier and rainier autumn.  
  
As busy as he was with the DA and his quidditch captain duties, Harry barely noticed when September suddenly became October. They were covering really difficult subjects in their lessons, and Harry's homework had begun to mount. Tonks had assigned them the task of constructing a complicated and difficult ward as homework, and then promptly moved on to a series of difficult curses and counter-jinxes. McGonagall had them conjuring more complex items now, and, after a transfiguration lesson, the classroom was often full of bizarre objects ranging from fluffy slippers and wooden stepladders, to brightly colored plastic beach balls and trays of frosted muffins. Professor Flitwick, meanwhile, had finished with barrier charms—each Gryffindor could now draw an Age Line, a Gender Line, a Height Line, and an Identity Line—and had started them on linking charms.  
  
"Ooh, Harry," Hermione said excitably, as she magically linked her banana to a mango across the room, "this charm is the basis of all the linking spells in 'Charms, Spelles, and Enchantmentes.' Once you've got this down, they should be no problem for you!" She paused, and looked suspiciously at Harry. "You have been practicing those charms, haven't you?"  
  
"Er, right," Harry said, as he tried to link his own pineapple to one on Professor Flitwick's desk. In truth, he hadn't really thought about the charm book. He had two and a half weeks left until his meeting with McGonagoll, and his mind had been too full of DA meetings and quiddtich techniques to worry much about it.  
  
Hermione pursed her lips. Harry thought for a moment that she was going to lecture him about getting behind, and idly considered shooting a silencing charm at her, but Ron spoke before Hermione.  
  
"How are we supposed to know when this works?" he said, scowling. "You can't tell any difference between the fruit before and after, can you? So how are we supposed to know when we've done it?"  
  
"Like this," Hermione said. She aimed her wand at her banana. "Reducio!" The banana detonated, spraying Hermione, Harry, Ron, and everyone sitting behind them, with sticky white banana pulp. Meanwhile, across the room, the mango had exploded as well, showering Professor Flitwick with sticky juice. He didn't seem at all daunted, however, and congratulated Hermione on her accomplishment.  
  
Harry was reasonably sure he'd managed to link his pineapple up to the other one, so he pointed his own wand at it. "Reducio!" A shower of pineapple juice and bright yellow pineapple meat sprayed across his and Ron's already banana coated robes. Hermione had dived under the desk, and so the blast of juice hit Lavender Brown, who was sitting behind her. Unfortunately, the other pineapple remained resolutely whole.  
  
"Keep trying," said tiny Professor Flitwick pulling a coconut out of the box of fruit on his desk and setting it in front of Harry. "Tricky magic, this. You'll get it eventually."  
  
"It's not so hard," Hermione added, encouragingly. "And once you've got it, you can do loads of other linking spells! Really, it isn't hard at all once you—"  
  
"It's easy for you to say," Ron muttered. "You've been doing the Protean charm for ages, and that loads harder."  
  
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, but she looked pleased with herself.  
  
By the end of class, Harry and Ron each successfully managed to link up their fruit with the one across the room. Professor Flitwick swished his wand and all the mounds of fruit pulp, seeds, and rivers of sticky juice vanished. Still, the sixth years still smelled decidedly like fruit punch, and their shoes had a tendency to stick to the floor as they walked down the corridor. Harry's spirits had dropped significantly during the lesson, though; his difficulty in mastering the linking charm had made him worry about the charms he was supposed to be learning for Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Hermione," he said, "how much of that book have you read?"  
  
She shrugged, swinging her bag higher onto her shoulder. "Twelve chapters or so. Why?"  
  
"Do you want to work on the charms together?"  
  
Hermione smiled brightly. "Of course! I was hoping you'd ask—I was afraid you'd put them off. We can start tonight, if you like."  
  
"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "We've got our Care of Magical Creatures homework due tomorrow. We have that entire essay to write."  
  
"Oh, of course," Hermione frowned. "If we get to the library straight away after dinner, then we might be able to finish the essay in time to practice the first chapter or two."  
  
They hurried on to their potions lesson. They were starting a new potion that day, one that induced lethargy in whoever took it without actually putting them to sleep. Snape had reverted to ignoring Harry's existence, and, although Hermione's grades must have risen since they weren't working in partners any more, Harry knew that his were barely hovering at the passing level.  
  
Draco Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins had been unusually quiet for the last month, and Harry couldn't help thinking that they were planning something. Sure enough, once they'd gotten started on their potions, the Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy began looking surreptitiously at the Gryffindors and laughing as though they knew something. After three-quarters of an hour of this, Harry threw down his crocodile heart in frustration, and, turning toward Malfoy, hissed, "What?"  
  
Malfoy grinned. "You're going to regret having a go at my father, Potter," he said quietly.  
  
"Nah, don't think I am," Harry said, dismissively, turning away from Malfoy.  
  
"Oh, you are," Maloy drawled. "I know you are. You'll regret it for the rest of your short little life."  
  
"I'm terrified," Harry said casually, adding half a cup of wombat saliva to the mixture. "You and your chums going to teach me a lesson, are you?" He looked over at Ron out of the corner of his eye. Ron was watching Malfoy, his wand hovering slightly above the surface of his potion. Ron looked as though, had Snape not been standing just feet away berating Seamus Finnigan for adding his rattlesnake skin too soon, he would have lifted his wand and conjured something large and heavy over Malfoy's head.  
  
"We don't need to," Draco said ominously.  
  
"Think your Dad and his Death Eater chums are going to escape, do you?" Ron said, tossing his diced hawk's liver into his cauldron with a loud splash.  
  
"The dementors are on our side," Malfoy snapped back, eyes bright, a knowing smirk on his face. "There's no prison that can hold my father back. And once he's free, your little friends will start to disappear—one by one."  
  
"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy," Hermione snapped suddenly. "You're not scaring anyone with your empty threats."  
  
"Empty threats?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "You'll be singing a different tune soon, Granger. It'll be the mudbloods who go first—"  
  
"You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" Ron said, plunging a hand inside his robes. Hermione grabbed his elbow, shaking her head slightly.  
  
"Leave him to me," she whispered. Malfoy turned around, toward Pansy who was the last of his cronies in the lesson. They were laughing and muttering something under their breath. Hermione grabbed her measuring cup full of wombat saliva, and emptied it into Malfoy's cauldron with one quick, furtive motion. "Stand back," she whispered, and Ron and Harry both took a slow, long step backward.  
  
Draco's cauldron rattled loudly as the potion went from green and fluid to a sticky pink mass like cotton candy mixed with used chewing gum. Malfoy turned back around to check the potion, one eyebrow slightly raised. He peered into the cauldron for a moment. Then, with a loud "Hwoof!" the potion burst out of the cauldron and plastered itself over Malfoy's face and clothes.  
  
The Gryffindor side of the room exploded in laughter at the sight of Draco Malfoy covered in thick pink goo. Malfoy started to squeal in pain and Pansy shrieked shrilly.  
  
"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape said, and one of the Slytherin boys grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him toward the door. "Who," Snape went on, "is responsible for this?"  
  
"Sir," said Nott, glaring at Hermione, "she did it! She dropped wombat saliva in his cauldron!"  
  
"Did she now?" Snape said, his gaze fixing on Hermione and flicking, for only a second or two, toward Ron and Harry. "Tut, tut, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor and detention. See me after class."  
  
Just then, the bell rang. Harry hastily bottled up his lethargy potion and sat the flask on Snape's desk. Hermione had to stay behind to arrange her detention with Snape, so Ron and Harry went ahead to the Great Hall and saved her a seat. She appeared a few minutes later, and slid onto the bench next to Ron, frowning.  
  
"What's he have you doing?" Ron asked, eagerly. "Disembowling frogs? Scouring bedpans?"  
  
"No," Hermione frowned. "I have to inventory and label all the potions ingredients in the cupboards. It'll take ages, but at least it'll be informative."  
  
"That git," Ron muttered. "If it had been one of us, he just would've yelled at us for getting it wrong."  
  
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Anyway, Draco deserved it. Wonder what that potion'll do to him?"  
  
"If I did it properly," Hermione said, half-smiling behind the chicken wing she was eating, "then it'll grow porcupine quills on his face. Madame Pomfrey will have to pluck them one by one."  
  
Harry and Ron grinned appreciatively at Hermione.  
  
After dinner they headed for the library. It was crowded with fifth year students, all of whom were busily scribbling on long pieces of parchment.  
  
"I wonder if Ginny is here, too?" Ron said idly, looking around at the crowd.  
  
"She'd better not be," Harry said. "She's supposed to be teaching Eva how to score tonight."  
  
They looked around for a place to sit, and eventually spotted an empty table in a dim, dusty corner of the library, behind a shelf of particularly dull-looking books about predicting astronomical angles and extinct magical species. They sat down, and Harry began pulling books from his bag.  
  
Care of Magical Creatures was now, honestly, one of Harry's favorite lessons. The departure of Umbridge seemed to have heartened Hagrid, and he was covering the many varieties of spirit creatures with a fervor he usually reserved for horrible, deadly monsters. Over the last month, besides the Wraiths and Wailers, they had done just one other benign spirit, the Deeping Specter, a horrible looking thing with the slimy, greyish skin of a toad's belly.   
  
Just as they had gotten used to the idea that these bizarre creatures were constantly around, watching, Hagrid had moved them up to Active creatures. They had started with Water Elementals, Undines. They were beautiful, with soft, round faces and translucent skin like a jellyfish. Unfortunately, they were also very bad-tempered, and had a tendency to spray salt water at the eyes of anyone who came too close. Air Elementals, Sylphs, were hard to keep visible. Their bodies were as insubstantial as a whiff of smoke in the breeze, but they had a better temper than the Undines, at least. They could be persuaded to guide a person to a lost item or toward a place where they should be. From there they had moved on to truly nasty spirit creatures. They had started on a little spirit called a Picket. The Picket was a strange little spirit that looked like a large, smoky ball with a wide mouth. It was a thief, and the Gryffindors quickly learned to empty their pockets and leave everything except their oldest quills and bits of parchments behind before they had lessons with the Picket. The only way to get back something it had stolen was to reach into its belly through its mouth, which was so unpleasant that it was much easier to just give up on the items as gone.  
  
Hagrid had also begun giving them homework on a regular basis, something which he had never really bothered with before. The essay they were working on tonight was meant to compare all of the creatures they had seen thus far. They were supposed to draw each one, describe its traits and characteristics, and detail the spell used to see it. They spread their parchment over the table, and opened their textbooks to the chapter on Spirit creatures.  
  
"Right," said Ron, writing the title of the essay at the top. "Shall we start with the wraiths?" Harry and Hermione nodded, and their quills began scratching back and forth across the page, sketching the ghastly shapes of the European Wraiths. Harry wrote a few sentences about the Wraiths, diagrammed the wand movements of the 'mannes acclarare' charm, and moved on to the wailers. By helping each other along, they zipped through the Wailers and he Deeping Specter fairly quickly.  
  
"Oh, hello," said a dreamy voice behind them. Harry turned, and spotted Luna Lovegood, her wand tucked behind her ear, and a teetering stack of books in her arms. She had her hair in a ponytail, and she had put her quill just behind the elastic, so that the feather stuck straight up in the air.  
  
"Hello, Luna," Harry said. He moved to set down the textbook he was holding up as he flicked through the illustrations for a picture of a undine. "Do you need any help with those?"  
  
"Oh, no. We're just working on a History of Magic essay," she said, nodding toward a table a few shelves away, where four Ravenclaw fifth years were bent low over their parchment.  
  
"That's nice," said Hermione.  
  
"Yes, isn't it," said Luna, dropping the stack of books on the edge of the table, so that all their ink bottles rattled and Ron's roll of parchment rolled away. She peered over Harry's shoulder at the illustrations in his textbook. "What are you working on?" she asked. "Oh, spirit creatures! How exciting! I've heard all about them from my father, of course. I really like them—especially the Kell."  
  
Harry frowned. Ron looked over his book with a worried expression. "What are the Kell?" he asked. "They're not another elemental, are they?"  
  
"There's no such thing," said Hermione in a bored voice, without even looking up from her parchment.  
  
"There is," Luna insisted. "They're spirits of time. If you can find them, you can persuade them to go back and change history."  
  
Harry dropped his book. It banged loudly on the table and Madame Pince hissed viciously at them from some hidden recess of the library. "Are you serious?" he asked. "They can change history?" Suddenly, blood was rushing into his head. If there were creatures that could change time, and he could find them, there was so much he could do. He could save Sirius—no, he could go back and catch Wormtail in their third year and stop Voldemort from rising again—or better yet, he could go back to when he was a baby and stop Voldemort from killing his parents in the first place—  
  
"There's no such thing," Hermione said in a more stern voice. She sat her quill down on her parchment. "First off, you can't change time. You just can't." Harry knew that the firmness in Hermione's voice came from her experience with the time-turner—she knew more about meddling with time than any of them. "And I happen to have heard of the Kell. They're the spirit creature that the wizard who invented the time-turner claimed to have made contact with. According to him, they're energy beings who live in the dimension of time, rather than space. He claimed that they were out there, but we just can't find them because they live on such a different plane of existence."  
  
"Wait—" Ron said, frowning. "If you can't contact them, then how would we even know they exist?"  
  
"Exactly," Hermione said, picking up her quill. "The whole thing was wishful thinking. But it did inspire the time-turner, so at least some good came of it."  
  
Luna scowled at Hermione. "Everyone knows how he knew—he met a man who used to be Kell."  
  
"That's ridiculous. That's like saying you met a man who used to be a hippogriff," Hermione said. Harry tried not to chuckle. Ron, however, looked doubtful. He muttered something about "animagus" under his breath.  
  
"You just don't believe in anything until you've read about it in a book," Luna said, still scowling. "I bet you don't even believe in Hydropicties."  
  
"Of course I don't," Hermione said, "because they don't exist either."  
  
"Hydropicties?" Ron asked.  
  
"Water spirits. Supposedly, they can save the drowning, raise sunken ships from the sea, that sort of thing," Hermione said. "Wizards crossing the oceans used to do spells and bring them gifts to try and befriend them, but never once in all of recorded history did anyone ever see one. It's just more wishful thinking."  
  
"Well where did they come from, then?" Harry asked. "The story had to come from somewhere."  
  
"They're invisible," Luna said. Her voice had lost its dreaminess entirely, and had an edge of irritation. "But when you're in the hull of a boat on a still night, you can hear them whispering."  
  
"It's just distant whale song," Hermione said.  
  
Luna had picked up her books again. "I have to go," she said briskly. "I'll be over there," she added, nodding toward the Ravenclaw table, "if you need me. I know all about spirit creatures, you know."  
  
"Thanks, Luna," Harry said. "If we need help, we'll call."  
  
Hermione watched her go, barely hiding her frustration. She seemed to hold an inner battle for a moment, and then threw down her quill. "It's no use. Luna just gets right under my skin—I can't concentrate on this now."  
  
"It's due Thursday," Ron pointed out.  
  
"Then I'll work on it tomorrow," Hermione said quickly. "Harry, I brought 'Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes' with me, if you want to go over a bit of it."  
  
"Sure," Harry said, dropping his own quill across the freshly drawn sketch of an undine. "We can finish this later."  
  
"Hey—" Ron protested feebly.  
  
"You can help if you like, Ron," Hermione added quickly.  
  
"Er," said Ron, perhaps a bit warily.  
  
Hermione summarized the first chapter for them, and they started practicing the Evasion charm, a charm that drew a map to the nearest exit in midair. Hermione, who had been practicing already, demonstrated it, and a perfect, shimmering gold model of the library appeared at the end of her wand, her position marked in red, and the best escape route picked out in glimmering green. Ron tried it next, and a map appeared, but his was neither as detailed nor as accurate as Hermione's. Harry's attempt was no more successful as Ron's, but she assured them it was a good start. After a few more tries, they opened the book to the second chapter, which was all about self-vanishing spells. Hermione was nervous about trying that one without a teacher to watch, but Ron was all for it.  
  
"It's like disapparating, isn't it?" Ron said, impressed. He tried vanishing himself, and overbalanced, falling into a chair.  
  
"Of course it isn't," Hermione said in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you? You—"  
  
"—can't apparate or disapparate in the school," Harry finished. "Yeah, we know. It's in 'Hogwarts, a History,' right? But Ron's right, isn't he? It is a bit like apparating."  
  
"Well, not really. It's an entirely different principle. With disapparating, you're actually traveling, right? Moving through space. With vanishing, you just make yourself disappear. You can only vanish yourself a little way—"  
  
"But you still disappear and reappear somewhere else," Ron objected.  
  
"Anyway, it's a very different principal from apparition," Hermione went on, "You don't control when and where you land, distance is limited, and it's just enough to give you a head start for a good run in a fight. Besides, you aren't traveling, really, you're vanishing yourself. Same as you vanish frogs and things."  
  
"I thought that when we vanished things, they disappeared," Ron said.  
  
"They have to turn up eventually, don't they?" Hermione said, flicking to the next chapter. "Nothing just vanishes forever."  
  
Harry wondered about all the odd things they'd vanished in the previous year. He imagined piles and piles of snails and mice appearing suddenly in Aunt Petunia's kitchen. He hoped they landed on top of Dudley.  
  
In the end, they agreed that Harry should ask McGonagall for help with the self-vanishing spell before they tried it. They went on to practice the spells in the third and fourth chapters, one that made you speed up so you could run faster and one that made you very flexible, so you could slip into small spaces. Harry managed to fold himself up small enough to fit neatly into a suitcase, although he found it decidedly uncomfortable. By that time they had made enough noise that Madame Pince came over, her face red, and chased them unceremoniously from the library.  
  
It was nearly nine, so they retreated to the common room, intending to continue their practice. Even Harry had to admit that it was fun learning such strange and useful charms, but, unfortunately, someone had let off a Weasley's Wailing Whiffer—a nasty little device just like a dungbomb except that it also made a loud, crying noise when set off. Hermione shot a silencing charm at it, but that only made it louder, so they said goodnight and hurried up to their dorms. The wailer was quieter there, but still obnoxiously noisy. Dean and Seamus were sitting in bed, reading with earmuffs on, while Neville was asleep with his head under a pillow.  
  
"Somebody tried to Silence it, didn't they?" Dean said over the whining. "We tried that. It just gets louder every time."  
  
"Fred and George will be chuffed," Ron said, although he didn't look at all pleased.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. "What did they say about the Evolving Fluffblasters?"  
  
"Nothing," Ron said, dismally. "I sent them the owl ages ago, but they haven't replied. I expect," he added, his voice growng bitter, "they're too busy to bother."  
  
"Give them a bit more time," Harry suggested. Privately, though, he thought it strange that Fred and George hadn't answered Ron's owl. If it had been Percy, he wouldn't have wondered—  
  
That brought another thought to mind.  
  
"Ron," he said quickly, "what happened with Percy?"  
  
"Him," Ron said, his voice getting even harsher. "Still hasn't apologized, has he? Even now that he's been proven wrong, he still won't go to Dad and say he's sorry. Fudge still disapproves of Dad, and Percy's still standing behind Fudge." He scowled. "But if Fudge's popularity keeps falling, he won't be Minister much longer."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron said. "And then Percy will be out of a job, and I'll bet my broomstick that he goes running back to Mum and Dad, apologizing." Ron looked so glum now, that Harry tried to change the subject.  
  
"Speaking of broomsticks, the, er, first quidditch match is coming up soon—" he began, but, just then, the wailing-whiffer had grown twice as loud.  
  
"Stop Silencing it!" Seamus bellowed at the door, and Neville's leg kicked violently in his sleep.  
  
"This is hopeless!" Harry said, pressing his hands over his ears. "Somebody throw it out a window!"  
  
"Then Filch will try to get us all expelled!" Ron said, half-shouting over the noise. "And it'll wake up the whole castle!"  
  
"What?" Dean shouted.  
  
"WAKE UP THE CASTLE," Harry shouted back.  
  
"Yes, it is a hassle," Dean shouted back, "and at this rate, it'll wake everyone up, too!" Ron shook his head, disgusted.  
  
There was a knock on the dormitory door—actually, it was more of a loud banging, like someone had kicked it hard with their foot. Harry got up to see who it was, but this meant he had to lower his hand to open the door. He felt like his ears would bleed from the loud, high-pitched noise. He pulled the door open to find Hermione. She was wearing a pair of fuzzy lavendar earmuffs, and carrying several more. She said something that Harry couldn't hear over the wailing.  
  
"WHAT?" he shouted. Hermione lifted one side of the earmuffs slightly off her ear.  
  
"I'VE HAD A THOUGHT!" she shouted back. "THESE ARE SPELLED! PUT THEM ON!"  
  
She handed Harry a pair, and he pulled them on. Instantly, the wailing stopped. His ears still throbbed from the racket, but it was such a relief.  
  
"Thanks," he mouthed to Hermione.  
  
"Don't mention it," she mouthed back, handing him the earmuffs. Harry closed the door, and tossed a pair to Ron, who looked at him doubtfully before pulling them on. His whole body seemed to sag with relief. Harry tossed pairs to Dean and Seamus as well, who eagerly pulled them on. Seamus took the spare pair and slipped it over Neville's sleeping head. Neville's foot kicked again.  
  
The earmuffs blessedly knocked out the noise, but they also meant that all conversation had ceased. It was a bit early for bed, but, as there was nothing else to do, Harry flopped down. He pulled out the huge book of spells and began to read ahead a bit. It was rather dry—Hermione's summaries were much more interesting—but he read the explanations behind the charms and spells in the next chapters with interest. He read until well after everyone else had dropped off, and, at last, he read himself to sleep.  
  
******  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Wynjara: No kidding. The big slacker.  
  
MulledMead: And I could've gotten away with it, if it weren't for you meddling kids!  
  
Caught me red-handed. I was hoping nobody would notice Katie Bell's conspicuous absence… but I ought to know that HP fans are too quick on the uptake for that. Okay, here's what happened.  
  
I started writing this right after I moved to Japan in August. At that point, I'd read Order of the Pheonix twice, but somehow I missed Angelina's commnet that Katie would still be there the next year both times. Up until then, though, I couldn't find a single place where it listed (explicitly) what year Katie was, so I decided to make a good-faith guess. In Philosopher's/Sorceror's Stone, Lee Jordan says that Katie was a reserve player "last year." First-years never make the house teams, and I assumed that would extend to reserves, so, for me, that pegged Katie as a third-year, which would mean she'd be gone by this book. Obviously, my logic was flawed. *sigh*  
  
After I had already written the first ten chapters or so—and begun to post them!—I reread OotP and caught that quote.  
  
"Oh, smack," I said to myself. "If Katies on th team still, then I bet she'd be captain, not Harry. But it's too late to edit all that out of what I've written/planned. What will I do?" So I was left with two options—abandon the fic—or go on and hope nobody mentioned Katie.  
  
You can see how well that turned out.  
  
So, my apologies on this glaring error in my text, and curses (kudos?) to you for catching it. It's too late for me to fix, so let's… um… assume that Katie's family was kidnapped by Death Eaters over the summer. Or… she transferred to Beauxbatons. Or… she took a Kwikspell course and graduated early. Pick your unlikely explanation. :)  
  
  
  
Sasinak: Yeah, me too! Just think of all the Ron/Dean friction that leaves for me to play with…  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: I AM SO SORRY. I don't know how that happened—but rest assured, it wasn't intentional!!! Please don't be offended. I apologize most sincerely. I'm glad you found that chapter interesting! I once found all the quidditch stuff boring too, but I've grown to like it over time. Still, it won't take up HUGE amounts of text here, besides the games, of course. I was happy for Kirke coming back to the team, too. Hope he lives up to our expectations.  
  
EriEka127: Thanks! 


	15. Bill's Earring

***Author's Note: Hello all!  
  
Just a quick note. I think you'll find this chapter a bit more action packed, and two of our standing "mysteries" will be resolved.  
  
This author's note will be continued in the Reviewer Responses section so that you can get to the story without having to listen to my rant.  
  
This chapter dedicated to my newborn nephew!  
  
Enjoy, kittens,  
  
Neoepiphany***  
  
Chapter Fifteen  
  
Bill's Earring  
  
With Hermione's help, Harry managed to get through all fifteen chapters of McGonagall's book in time for her lesson, even though he was now spending two nights a week and most of the weekend training the quidditch team. Ron complained that Harry was more fanatical than Angelina, but when Ginny compared him with Oliver Wood, Harry finally got the message.  
  
"I'm not fanatical," Harry protested. "We want to win. I want us to win. There's no reason we shouldn't win! So I'm going to see to it that we do. We need time to get used to each other, but we've only got three weeks until the match against Slytherin, and—" he went on in a furiously determined voice that left no room for doubt, "—we are not going to lose."  
  
"Okay, okay," said Dean, backing away from Harry. "We get the message. We're all doing our best, Harry. We want to win too."  
  
"I know you do," Harry said, relaxing slightly. "I just think that since so much of the team is new, we need to spend all this time practicing—getting used to each other. You've already made great improvements. Eva, you're becoming a better scorer, and Kirke, as long as you don't get intimidated by the other team, you'll do just fine."  
  
"Thanks," said Kirke, although he looked pale. Eva just nodded.  
  
After that pep talk, the team submitted more willingly to Harry's endless drills and skirmishes. By mid-October, even Harry felt that they were getting pretty good, and he found himself really looking forward to the match against Slytherin in November.  
  
His lesson with McGonagall had gone very well. Harry hadn't really mastered all the charms, but he at least knew what they were and had a pretty good handle on the more basic ones. McGonagall complimented Harry's diligence, and helped him with a few of the charms that she thought might come in useful, especially the adapted linking charms Hermione had found so exciting. Of course, at the end of the lesson, she assigned him another ten chapters, but pushed their next lesson back to December, owing to Harry's need to prepare for the quidditch match.  
  
The short reprieve from studying for McGonagall's lesson was a welcome blessing; October had not been as easy as September. For one thing, news of missing or injured wizards, muggle killings, and cruel pranks appeared in the Daily Prophet almost daily now. No Deathe Eaters had been caught, and only a few had even been identified. The two most popular topics of conversation in the corridors between classes were You-Know-Who and his evil deeds and how much Fudge's popularity had dropped. On top of that, their other professors had apparently decided that the sixth years needed more homework, and they found themselves spending more and more evenings in the library, writing essays, drawing diagrams, and practicing the increasingly difficult charms and transfigurations they were studying in their lessons. So, Harry was among the most excited students when a notice went onto the noticeboard one cold and rainy afternoon.  
  
"Next Hogsmeade trip's the day before Halloween," Ron said, his face lapsing into a dazed, happy grin. "Just think—we can spend the day sipping butterbeer, doing some shopping, eating Honeyduke's fudge…" His eyes flicked toward Harry. "I mean, unless we have quidditch practice that day, of course," he said warily.  
  
But Harry was just as eager for a break as the rest of them. "Well…" he began, "the match is just the very next day… but I think we've worked hard enough… I mean, as long as we have an extra practice during the week we'll be okay. Let's have the day off."  
  
Ron sunk into a cushy chair near the fire. "Thank heaven for that," he said.  
  
"What are you going to do in Hogsmeade?" Hermione said, looking just as excited as Ron. "Not Zonko's?"  
  
"Nah, who needs Zonko's when my brothers have the most successful joke shop in England? But I'll be first in the door to Honeyduke's. How about you Harry?"  
  
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, me too," Harry said quickly, smiling. Hermione began to describe the new quills and maybe a diary that she was planning to buy, and Harry lapsed back into thought.  
  
Secretly, a worrisome thought had just occurred to Harry. He remembered Moody's words last August. "You'll be free to move about Hogwarts grounds, but we're not sure how we'll handle Hogsmeade yet." No one had mentioned Hogsmeade since then—at least, not to Harry. Talking about the weekend had reminded Harry, and he'd had a sudden, terrible vision of Dumbledore telling him he wasn't allowed to go. Visions of third year, watching Ron and Hermione and the rest of the class disappear down the road while he had to gloomily wander the halls, filled his head. He didn't think he could stand being cooped up again, not even at Hogwarts.  
  
Harry didn't share his concerns with Ron and Hermione because as long as no one else had mentioned it, he didn't intend to bring it up. There was no sense in reminding them of something that, with a little luck, everyone but him had forgotten. He didn't see that he was in any more danger from the Death Eaters than anybody else, and the probability of Voldemort striking in the middle of a crowded Hogsmeade shop was remote. Well, if they wouldn't let him go, there was only one thing for it: he would sneak out in the invisibility cloak.  
  
"Oh, Harry, it's almost seven. Did you want to practice the Guardian Charm?" Hermione said suddenly.  
  
"What?" Harry said, jerking out of his reverie.  
  
"Are you all right?" Ron said.  
  
"Sure, fine," Harry said quickly, although both Ron and Hermione gave him skeptical looks. "Really. Yeah, let's get a start on that charm, Hermione."  
  
The Guardian Charm occupied Chapters 17 through 20 of "Spelles, Charmes, and Enchantmentes," and for good reason. It was, in theory, an adapted linking charm, but it was the hardest charm Harry had ever heard of, bar none. It was used to link two objects so that when a certain thing happened to one of them, a spell on the other one would be activated. In effect, the spell made one object a trigger for a spell on another object.  
  
"Why are we even bothering?" Ron moaned after their fourth or fifth failed attempt. "What use is this spell, really? I mean, there are dozens of wards that do pretty much the same thing but with half the work."  
  
"A ward can tell you if someone's in that area or used a certain spell, sure, but you can do a lot more with a Guardian Charm," Hermione said as she prodded a broken quill she was trying to enchant. "The ward can warn you, but a Guardian charm activates an actual spell. Like—well, you could cast the charm on a doorway, and then if anyone uses alohomora on it, you could make the doorknob explode, or something."  
  
"The name's a bit silly," Harry said. "They ought to call it the Bomb charm, or the Trigger charm, or something."  
  
"Well, it's more than just that, isn't it?" Hermione said. "You can charm the objects to do things besides just explode. You could charm one to glow, or become a portkey, or activate a ward, or just about anything really. It's dead useful—I imagine if it weren't such a difficult spell, people would use it a lot more."  
  
And it was a difficult spell. First, you had to figure out the enchantment. The standard spell for a linking charm was "Coagmentum!" but you had to change it and add a special incantation for the Guardian charm. Then you had to set all your conditions, which took ages. After hours of work they had barely finished enchanting the broken quills. (If someone tried to write with the white quill, the black quill would burst into flame. They left it lying on the table in the hopes that someone would try it.) Ron, meanwhile, had had an epiphany.  
  
"We ought to show this spell to Fred and George," he said as he prodded the quill with his wand. "They could really put it to good use—you know, inventing plates that squeal when you pick up the fork, that sort of thing."  
  
"Have you heard from Fred and George yet?" Harry asked.  
  
"No," Ron said, glumly. "You'd think that they'd at least tell me they got my owl."  
  
"I'm sure they're just busy," Hermione said. Ron just scowled.  
  
But the mystery of the twins' silence was solved the following morning. Harry and Ron were laughing while Seamus told them in detail about their quill detonating and terrifying a group of first years after they'd gone to bed. With the arrival of the mail, however, came a lot of shouting and surprised squeals. One truly huge owl was flying in with the rest of the pack, carrying a massive box wrapped in green and purple paper bearing the interlocking "WW" of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.  
  
"Ron, look out!" Harry shouted.  
  
"What?" Ron said. He looked up and jumped out of his chair just in time. The owl dropped the huge package into Ron's arms, knocking him backward. The Slytherin table burst into gales of laughter.  
  
"Never mind them," Hermione said as she and Harry pulled Ron, clutching his package, to his feet. "They're just jealous because you got more mail than them."  
  
"This thing weighs a ton," Ron said, but his eyes were full of delighted excitement.  
  
"Open it," Hermione encouraged. "We've got half an hour before Herbology."  
  
Ron ripped excitedly into the paper. A small crowd of Gryffindors had gathered around to watch, everyone egging Ron on.  
  
"There's a letter," Ron said, handing it to Harry. "And—wow!"  
  
Below the letter was an assortment of goodies from the Weasley's inventory, many of them already banned by Filch. There was a generous sack of Sneezing Powder, refills for their skiving Snackboxes, a selection of Florescent Fruits and Glowing Goodies, a bag of trick sweets, an Instant Door (for making people walk into walls, a good trick at Hogwarts where the doors were in the habit of moving), an exploding quaffle (which Harry quickly banned from Gryffindor practices), a selection of Wildfire Whizbangs, a jumbo box of Wailing Whiffers, Squealing Smokers, and Blaring Bouncers, and their very own Evolving Fluffblaster.  
  
"Quick! Filch is coming! Slam the lid back on," Hermione hissed under her breath.  
  
"We'd better get it back to the tower," Harry suggested, and he, Ron, and Hermione pushed their way out of the crowd just as Filch muscled through to where they'd been standing. He loudly sniffed the air behind him, no doubt trying to detect the presence of dungbombs. Harry and Ron held the package between them because of its substantial weight, but they managed to run back to Gryffindor tower. Ron took the letter from Harry and read it aloud.  
  
"Dear Ron,  
  
We were really pleased to get your letter. It's great to know that our products are being put to good use. Fred was especially tickled about the Fluffblasters—they were his idea, of course. Wish I could've seen that one on Ernie's head. We impress even ourselves sometimes.  
  
Sorry in taking so long to reply. We decided that we couldn't have complete strangers outdoing our own brother in terms of major mischeif making, so we've gotten together this gift package for you. Consider it a very early birthday present. Mum says don't you dare use any of it, but we think you'll be all right so long as you don't get caught.  
  
Mum and Dad send their best to you, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, along with the usual messages warning you not to get into trouble, study hard, and so on. We're fine. Business is booming. We hired Lee Jordan to run the front counter so we have enough time to devote to creating new inventory. (We're doing a new line of trick quills that we hope to have ready before the next term starts.)  
  
We're supposed to tell you to give Harry a message. Moody and all don't want Harry wandering around on his own in Hogsmeade, so you're going to have a guard. They'll meet you outside the front gates on the way out, and you're to stay with them no matter what. Dad says if he has any questions he should ask McGonagall or Dumbledore.  
  
Enjoy the gifts,  
  
George and Fred."  
  
Harry laughed out loud, mostly with relief. So, he was going to get to go to Hogsmeade after all!  
  
"Are you mad?" Ron said, looking at him funny. "We're going to have a—a babysitter! At Hogsmeade!"  
  
Even Hermione looked flustered at then news. "Who will it be? We won't have any fun at all with Mundungus or Moody breathing down our necks."  
  
"I thought you liked Moody and Mundungus," Harry said.  
  
"I do, of course I do," Hermione said. "That's not the point. Can you imagine what'd happen if we tried to have a quiet butterbeer with Dung? He'd spend the whole time trying to convince us to go along with him to some stolen toad house or hot wand deal or something."  
  
"Actually, that wouldn't be so bad," Ron said, looking a bit like Fred and George. "I'd love to see some stolen toads."  
  
"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed, exasperatedly.  
  
Harry's thoughts lingered on his guard, and by the end of the morning's lessons, his immediate feeling of relief had evaporated entirely—replaced by anger. Why did he need a babysitter? Hadn't he faced down Death Eaters—not to mention Voldemort himself!—as much as anyone else? More than most!  
  
"Not one!" he said at lunch, stabbing his shepherd's pie in his irritation.  
  
"Not one what?" said Hermione, who had just been startled out of describing the evolving fluffblaster that had bounced into her arithmancy class.  
  
"Not one Death Eater attack has taken place anywhere near Hogsmeade," Harry muttered, further frustrated by the fact that he'd spoken aloud. "Why do I need a guard? Nothing's going to happen in a city full of wizards."  
  
"I dunno, Harry," said Ron. "I've been thinking about it, and maybe they're right."  
  
"What?" Harry said, scowling. "You think I need a babysitter too?"  
  
"No—no, not that you need a babysitter, but that You-Know-Who might try something while we have the day off," Ron said quickly. "There've been a lot of attacks lately, haven't there?"  
  
"But nowhere near here," Harry said. "And no one's died in ages."  
  
"Harry, don't you think you're being a bit—" Hermione began.  
  
"A bit what?" Harry snapped.  
  
"Well," Hermione said with dignity, "a bit sensitive? I mean, you've had guards before. What about last year on the way to King's Cross? We had half the—" she lowered her voice to a whisper "—Order along then."  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "and what about this summer?"  
  
"Those times were different," Harry said.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"They weren't Hogsmeade."  
  
"Ah," Hermione sighed. "Well, there's no arguing with that, is there." Ron, who had opened his mouth in order to do just that, quickly closed it at Hermione's look. "I suppose we'll just have to make the best of it and hope it's someone enjoyable."  
  
"I just had a horrible thought," Ron said, the color draining from his cheeks.  
  
"What?" Harry and Hermione said together.  
  
"What if it's Mum?" Ron whispered.  
  
The time until Saturday passed in a flurry of activity for Harry. Their match against Slythering was supposed to take place on Sunday, so Harry had the Gryffindor team working extra hard in preparation. That meant that almost every night he had either practice or a private session with one of the players. He wondered if Oliver or Angelina had gone through this.  
  
"No offense, Harry," Ron said at breakfast on Saturday morning, "but if you'd said we had to practice today, I think I would've strangled myself with my own broom."  
  
"Yeah," Ginny added from beside him. "I think Eva would've strangled Harry with hers."  
  
Harry laughed. "I admit, I've been pushing us hard, but we have a lot to live up to, and we've got to win tomorrow. I think we have a good chance, so long as everybody gets a good rest today."  
  
"Ready to go? Filch is checking passes," Hermione said.  
  
"After you," Ginny said.  
  
"What, are you coming with us? What about Dean?" Ron asked in scathing tones.  
  
"Dean is practicing with Seamus," Ginny said coolly. "But if you'd rather I didn't come with you, I'm sure I have other friends—"  
  
"Don't be silly Ginny," Harry said, frowning at Ron. "Of course we want you to come."  
  
They pulled on their cloaks and headed out of the Great Hall, Harry's pockets heavy with sickles and galleons he intended to spend on Honeydukes candies, butterbeer, and a few Zonko's tricks to supplement their arsenal.  
  
As they passed the statues of the winged boars, all four of them peered around the crowd, searching for their mysterious "guard."  
  
"Harry! Ron, Ginny! Over here!"  
  
Harry peered in the direction of the voice and saw a shock of flaming red hair. For a split second, he thought it was Mrs. Weasley—but no, it had been a male voice that called them.  
  
"Bill!" Ginny shouted delightedly, running to give her brother a hug. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine," Bill grinned, looking very cool. Once again he looked like he'd just left a rock concert; more than one seventh year girl was eyeing him hopefully. "Mum and Dad send their love."  
  
"And how's Fleur?" Ginny teased.  
  
"Wonderful," Bill winked. Ron groaned.  
  
"It's so good to see you!" Hermione said, smiling at Bill. "We were worried about who our guard would be—"  
  
"Mundungus wanted to come," Bill said, "but I think Mum convinced him that I know Hogsmeade better. And if Mad Eye'd had his way, you'd have had seven people walking in a circle around Harry all the time."  
  
"That's what I was afraid of," Harry said.  
  
"Well, no worries," Bill went on. "The Death Eaters probably won't try anything today. The ministry has half the Magical Law Enforcement squad down here for the protection of the underage wizards."  
  
"I'm freezing," Ginny said, pulling her muffler around her neck. It was a cold day with the misty sort of rain that seemed to stick to the skin like glue. "Let's get going."  
  
Hogsmeade was packed with ministry wizards, each one wearing a badge emblazoned with "D.o.M.L.E." in bright red letters. Bill nodded his greetings to a few of them, and most smiled warmly at Harry. They even stopped to talk with a few of them, although Harry didn't really recognize any of them.  
  
They went into a couple of shops, starting with a stationery shop where Hermione bought the diary she'd been thinking about, and Ron replenished his quill supply. Harry, Ron, and Bill went into Zonko's joke shop while Ginny and Hermione popped into a robe shop to buy socks and things. Bill teased Ron that going into Zonko's was "Fraternizing with the enemy" and threatened to tell the twins.  
  
"I'm not 'fraternizing' with anyone!" Ron protested as he pulled a bottle of fading ink off the shelf. "I just need a few things that the twins didn't send, that's all."  
  
By midafternoon, they had finished all their shopping and playing, and everyone was looking particularly cold and damp. Harry suggested a round of butterbeer, and they made their way toward the Three Broomsticks. It was completely full of people, both Hogwarts students and teachers, and wizards sporting the D.o.M.L.E. badges. Harry spotted a ministry wizard who seemed to have been following them around for most of the morning sitting by himself in a corner. He saw Harry looking at him and nodded politely, sipping his mulled mead.  
  
"Hello, Bill! Haven't seen you in ages!" Madame Rosmerta called cheerily.  
  
"Good to see you, Rosmerta! Let's have a round of butterbeer for the five of us, and one for you as well," he winked. "You lovely creature, you."  
  
"Oh, Bill," Rosmerta laughed.  
  
They sat down at a table near the back, as far away from the drafty windows as they could manage. The butterbeer warmed them instantly, and Harry began to feel pleasantly drowsy. He listened as Bill filled them in on most of the news at home—it sounded like everyone was busy trying to catch the Death Eaters and keep the ones they'd caught in jail.  
  
"How's Lupin doing?" Ginny asked.  
  
To Harry's surprise, Bill half smiled. "Well—you know that he moved back into—well, into Harry's house?"  
  
Harry felt the little hairs on the back of his neck rise at hearing Grimmauld Place described like that. Instinctively, he rubbed Sirius's ring with his other hand. Ron looked at him strangely. Bill, who didn't seem to have notice, went on.  
  
"Poor man is stuck there alone with Mira half the time. She's such an oddball, it's a wonder she hasn't driven him nuts. She's always breaking things and he has to magic them back together. Of course, I think she's managed to cheer him up quite a bit. He's been looking less tired lately. If you ask me, he—"   
  
"Bill," Hermione interrupted, as though she'd been unable to contain herself any longer. "Why did you stop wearing the dragon fang earring?"  
  
For a split second, Bill looked surprised, and maybe a little nervous, but he managed to mask it quickly. "I don't know. Mum always hated it, you know."  
  
"That never bothered you before," Hermione said.  
  
"Hermione, what are you on about?" Ron said.  
  
"I've been thinking about it all day," Hermione said, looking shrewdly at Bill. "There's your earring, Bill, and Snape's, and McGonagall and Dumbledore's necklaces, and even Tonks has been wearing earrings lately. It's a charm, isn't it? It's some kind of linking charm. They're linked to let you communicate with each other."  
  
The table was silent for a moment. Harry was surprised—he had almost forgotten about the silver jewelry. Ginny was looking at Bill, who looked like he was doing some fast thinking. Then, to Harry's further surprise, Bill laughed.  
  
"You know, Hagrid said you'd figure it out if we didn't tell you," he said. "Dumbledore said we should just tell you if you asked, of course, but Mum doesn't want you to know—for your own protection, she said."  
  
"Tell us what?" Ron said, looking surprised.  
  
"It is a communication charm, isn't it?" Hermione demanded.  
  
Ginny had a look of dawning comprehension. "That's how everyone got to—well, you know where—so quickly the night Mira showed up!"  
  
"It's called a Network Charm," Bill said. "Dumbledore invented it. You're right, Hermione, it is a kind of linking charm. The charm is always working, so long as the object is touching your skin. You can use it to link together any number of objects so that you can hear another person speaking from far away, or to send up an alarm, that sort of thing."  
  
"Like a telephone," Harry said.  
  
"I guess," Bill shrugged. "I don't know much about muggle telephones. Anyway, Dumbledore found that the spell stays on silver a lot longer than on anything else, so he got hold of as much silver jewelry as he could manage, spelled it, and gave it to everyone in the Order. Except Lupin, of course. His is gold, and they have to redo the spell every few weeks. But it's amazingly useful—Dumbledore can call us in a second if we need to be somewhere, and it's got built in alarms."  
  
"What sort of alarms?" Ginny asked.   
  
"Well, like… there are a couple of safe places we're protecting, and if anyone goes into them who isn't supposed to, an alarm goes off, and everyone apparates there, ready to fight if need be," Bill said. "It also sends up an alarm if anyone on the network dies," he added.  
  
A moment's silence followed this statement. Harry broke it. "If you know when someone on the network dies, and Hestia had one of the pieces of jewelry, why didn't anyone know she was dead until I told them?" Harry demanded.  
  
"Because she wasn't wearing her necklace when they took her," Bill said. "You might have read in the paper—Hestia was home sick when You-know-who came for her. She had the flu. Moody found her necklace lying on her bedside table, where she'd probably taken it off while she slept."  
  
"Why didn't anyone tell us about it? I bet Mum and Dad have them too?" Ginny asked.  
  
"Of course," Bill said. "The thing is, if the Death Eaters get hold of one of the pieces of jewelry, the whole system would be useless. The fewer people who know about it, the better."  
  
"But why don't we have them?" Ron demanded. "We wouldn't need a guard if we had them—we could just call for help if there was any trouble!"  
  
Bill sighed. "A lot of stuff goes out over the network that you don't need to hear. No. It's a rule—only full members of the Order can have them. Personally, I'll be glad when we've captured You-Know-who, and I can go back to wearing my fang."  
  
They all laughed a little. Harry sipped his butterbeer, and noticed that Bill's eyes followed his hand as it rose. Bill was looking at his ring. Harry felt his cheeks flush and quickly pulled his hand away, hiding it under the table. He felt like Sirius's ring was something personal; it made him a little uncomfortable to have it stared at. He was afraid Bill would say something about it, but when he spoke, he changed the subject.  
  
"So how are your lessons?"  
  
They all groaned, although Ginny groaned the loudest.  
  
"O.W.L. year is horrible," Ginny moaned draining the last of her butterbeer. "They give us tons of homework, and Harry's having quidditch practive practically every night. I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep."  
  
"Well, you can have a rest when you get back to the castle," Bill said encouragingly.  
  
"No I can't," Ginny said. "I have to write an entire Potions essay."  
  
Bill shook his head. "How about you three?"  
  
"Brilliant, except for Potions," Harry muttered.  
  
"What's wrong with Potions?" Bill asked.  
  
"Snape," Harry and Ron said together.  
  
"Is he giving you a hard time?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"You could say that," Ron said.  
  
"He's trying his hardest to fail me," Harry said.  
  
"And he gave Hermione detention for practically no reason," Ron added.  
  
"It wasn't no reason," Hermione protested. "I did earn it, didn't I?"  
  
"Snape's never liked me," Harry said, "but lately, you'd think he's restraining himself from going straight for my throat. I can't figure it out."  
  
Bill opened his mouth as though to speak, but then shut it again wordlessly. He looked around them briefly, and then motioned for them all to move in. They leaned low over their butterbeers, and Bill whispered.  
  
"You can't tell anyone I told you this," he said.  
  
"Of course we won't," Harry said.  
  
"Mum would have my head—not to mention Snape—but I think you have a right to know why he's going after you."  
  
"Just tell us, Bill," Ginny whispered impatiently.  
  
"It goes back to this summer, when Snape came to your rescue, Harry," Bill whispered, his voice so low that they could barely hear it over the noise of the pub. "There wasn't really time to plan—we all just apparated straight there. We thought Wormtail was gone—"  
  
"Wormtail!" Hermione squeaked, surprised.  
  
"Yeah," Bill went on. "But apparently, he was watching from somewhere. He told You-Know-Who that Snape was among the wizards who went to your aid. You-Know-Who wasn't happy—not happy at all. Snape managed to convince him that he had to, to maintain his position as their spy at Hogwarts, but it didn't matter."  
  
"What happened to him?" Ginny whispered.  
  
"Let's just say that he had a very, very bad summer," Bill said, shaking his head. "Mum says it's a wonder he made it back to school at all."  
  
"Oh!" Hermione whispered, shocked. "I had no idea!"  
  
"Me either," whispered Harry, his eyes wide. "I wouldn't have thought—I mean, I didn't think—" He swallowed. "No wonder he's mad at me. He blames me."  
  
"It's not your fault, though," Bill whispered forcefully. "Not your fault at all. Snape knew there were risks when he began doing what he's doing. And that's no excuse for his behavior—he ought to treat you like any other student no matter what—but at least now you know."  
  
Bill leaned back in his chair, so the rest of them followed suit. Harry hadn't known that Snape had been punished for coming to save him. Now that he knew, he could understand why Snape had been so venemous to the three of them all term, but that hardly made things better. He felt even less prepared to face Snape now than he had been before.  
  
Bill stretched and looked at his watch. "It's getting late. We ought to be heading back," he said. "Unless you've got anything else you want to do in town?"  
  
"I have a composition to write," Ginny scowled. Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed, and Ginny made a face at them.  
  
They wrapped themselves back up in their cloaks and mufflers, paid Rosmerta for the mead, and stepped back out into the rain. It had gotten heavier while they'd been in the pub, and everyone had gone inside for shelter, leaving the streets almost entirely empty.  
  
"I hope this lets up before tomorrow," Ginny said, peering at the clouds.  
  
"We've practiced in rain before," Harry said encouragingly.  
  
The road back to the school was eerily quiet except for the sound of the falling rain and the mud squelching below their shoes. The road ahead was nothing more than a mist of silver haze; Harry couldn't see the buildings on either side of them through his fogging, wet glasses. He felt lost. He plodded along behind Bill, not entirely sure of where they were, even though he felt like he knew Hogsmeade very well.  
  
Suddenly, Bill stopped in his tracks. Harry bumped into him from behind. "What—?" he said, but Hermione hissed "Quiet!"  
  
Bill's hand had gone to his earring. "Who's there?" he shouted into the falling rain. Harry peered over his shoulder—he could just make out a grayish shape in the path ahead. It quickly turned into the outline of a man; then, when he had come very close indeed, Harry could make out his face. It was the Ministry wizard who had nodded to Harry in the Three Broomsticks.  
  
"Oh, it's you, Higgins," Bill said, relaxing. "You gave me a fright."  
  
"You shouldn't have let me come so close," Higgins said reproachfully. "If I wanted to do you harm, I could have done it five times between there and here. You ought to have stunned me." Something in his gravelly tone reminded him of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes they'd had with the imposter Mad-Eye Moody. Almost instinctively, Harry pulled out his wand.  
  
"I couldn't see you," Bill said. "I wouldn't want to stun an innocent bystander."  
  
"Better safe than sorry, they say," Higgins said. "And I'm afraid you're going to be very sorry indeed now."  
  
"What?" Bill said, his hand flying back to his earring. "Was that a threat, Higgins?"  
  
"The Dark Lord has business with the boy," Higgins said, smiling. "I will bring him back. Alive or dead—this time, there will be no mistakes." Harry was suddenly aware of Higgins's wand—pointing right at the scar on his forehead.  
  
************  
  
Author's Note (cont'd)  
  
You may have been wondering why it took me so long to post this chapter. There's a very simple reason for that. After every chapter I post, I get a slew of emails with suggestions, questions, guesses, etc. I don't mind this—actually, I want to encourage it! I love feedback, criticism, and hearing your ideas. But after the last chapter I got several emails accusing me of everything from being another author writing under a second account to outright plagiarism.  
  
Before I go on, let me clear up a few things officially.  
  
*This is my only account on Fanfiction.net. I use the account name "neoepiphany" for most everything I do online. I am not another author in disguise, nor do I have multiple accounts for any other purpose.  
  
*No, I have not told anyone the answers to what happens, nor will I tell you. Besides me, the only person in the world who knows what happens at the end is my roommate Michelle. Even she doesn't know everything, and it took a lot of pleading for me to tell her in the first place. (If I drop dead in the midst of writing, you'll have to beg her for the conclusion.)  
  
*None, I repeat, none of this story is plagiarized. It comes entirely from an original idea I had, and 100% of it is original text. If you've read any of it in another fanfic, it's much more likely that that author plagiarized me. If you try to prove it by telling me the "ending" and getting it hopelessly wrong, I reserve the right to publicly make fun of you.  
  
Anyway, the end result of all this is that I was in a foul mood for a couple of days, and put off writing this particular story for over a week. I only write this story for fun—when it stops being fun, I stop writing. It's a simple as that.  
  
Of course, that's not to say I'm not up for constructive criticism! I really do welcome criticism, suggestions, and questions. Just not accusations or attacks.  
  
Ok, rant over, and back to NeoEpiphany's usual cheery demeanor!  
  
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Will you be anxiously awaiting the next installment? (mwahaha! Suspense—my darling friend!)  
  
*************  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Wiccan Pussykat: Yes, I know, I spent quite a while on my moody little hiatus.   
  
But now I'm back, and hopefully, it'll stay that way! ^_^  
  
What are those Slytherins plotting? They're taking their sweet time—it can't be anything good! Hermione's detention isn't anything HUGELY critical to the plot, although it does serve to advance her character development (i.e. this is the first time we've ever seen Hermione do something detention-worthy on her own steam). Along the detention lines, don't worry, I'm not the kind of teacher who can give detentions, nor would I if I could. I more of a show-up-look-cool-speak-English sort of teacher. Will the spirit creatures be important? Would I have devoted so much time and energy to them if they were just a throw-away?   
  
Kento: Yes, I know it was a little slow at the beginning. I'm the first to admit the story has pacing problems, which I would normally fix in the second draft. :) I had to cover a lot of daily routine because the first part of the story has all of the hints to the answers. But, as I said in the Author's note at the beginning of last chapter, now we're in more of an action section. Faster pace, more fighting, more characters popping in and out, etc.  
  
She: Yep, the ring has been kind of background for a while. It will be for some time. But it is a critical piece of the puzzle, so have patience. McGonagall is slightly annoyed wit Tonks because she is a bit of a klutz, and I imagine McGonagall was Tonks's HoH, and is now wondering how such a troublemaker got to be a teacher. No, Hermione was just annoyed at Luna spouting more nonsense. They really do get along most of the time. I don't think they could have meant Snape because they didn't know that Snape was in the Order, right? (Unless of course, the real spy told them!) He was just their "lapdog" at Hogwarts. Good questions, keep 'em coming!  
  
Jbfritz: So that's where Katie went! Good thinking.  
  
Scorpion Lord: I'm glad you like the story! Ahh, cut me some slack about SPEW! Hermione did mention it earlier, when they were at Grimmauld Place. I'd like to think she's backing off a little while she regroups and comes up with better ways to help the elves. As to Dobby and Winky, well, in my defense, Dobby didn't appear in OotP until after the first trip to Hogsmeade, and Winky didn't appear at all! Yes, they are coming into the story (Dobby is in chapter 16). And as for Krum, nope, he won't be appearing in this story. But remember Ron and Hermione did fight over him and Hermione was writing him a letter at one point. I agree that hints of romance are important. I always said there is one important romance in this story... and a minor one, too.  
  
Wynjara: I think they'll calm down. Hermione was just annoyed because Luna was spouting more "nonsense." I actually really like both their characters—Luna is one of my favorite people.  
  
And that's it for this round. Tune in next week—same time, same place! :) 


	16. The New Rules

********Author's Note** Welcome to the next chapter, and the rest of that exciting fight I started in Chapter 15! Not much to say in this chapter. This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Michelle, who not only came to see me in Japan, but gave me a beautiful glass plaque with a Sirius Black quote on it! ^_^ Hooray for Michelle, helping me through my period of mourning.  
  
Reviewer Responses are, as always, at the end.  
  
Enjoy! Neo*********  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Sixteen  
  
The New Rules  
  
Bill pushed Harry behind him, and took a step back. "I don't think so," Bill said, his voice cold.  
  
Harry looked at Ron. "Run," he mouthed. Ron shook his head. He had his wand out. Harry turned around toward Hermione. She was pale, but her wand was pointing around Bill toward the wizard. "Run," he hissed again, but Hermione didn't move.  
  
Higgins suddenly lunged. A jet of violet light burst out of his wand. Ginny screamed.  
  
"Protego!" Bill shouted. The curse bounced back, knocking Higgins backward. Bill pushed Harry again, this time down the path. "Run!" he shouted as Harry stumbled. "Get out of here!"  
  
Suddenly Hermione had grabbed Harry's arm. "Come on!" she shouted.  
  
Harry didn't move. He had pulled his wand out. Higgins had come for him. He wouldn't let Bill be injured on his behalf.  
  
Higgins's voice rang out. "AVADA—" Suddenly, something smashed into Harry's back, and he and Hermione fell face forward into the mud. Harry's face collided painfully with a rock, and he felt an explosion of pain in his jaw.  
  
"STUPEFY!" Bill shouted.  
  
"CRUCIO!" Higgins shouted at the same time.  
  
Suddenly, there were three sharp cracks, and three loud shouts of "Stupefy!"  
  
Harry raised his head, but it was no good. He couldn't see around the mud caked over his glasses, and whatever had hit him so hard had pinned both of his arms to the ground.  
  
"I think you got him, Professors," Bill said. His voice was shaky.  
  
"Ginny, get off," Ron said, and Harry felt an elbow in the small of his back as Ginny stood up. She must have thrown herself on top of him when Higgins tried to use the Killing Curse. Harry got to his knees, and pulled his glasses off. The world was silvery with rain and blurred, but at least he could see. Ron was helping Hermione to her feet, and put a hand out to help up Harry.  
  
Harry gingerly touched his cheek. There was a gash running from his cheekbone to his jaw where he'd hit the stone, and his mouth was full of blood. He spat it out. One of his teeth had been knocked out. He squinted his eyes and spotted it, a little dot of white in the black-brown mud.  
  
"Is he dead, Albus?" Professor McGonagall said behind them.  
  
"No," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "But he is quite unconscious. Tonks, would you be so kind as to bind him up?"  
  
"Harry—you're bleeding!" Hermione said. Harry felt Ron pull him to his feet.  
  
"My face hit a stone," he said, nodding toward the ground. The cut, which was no doubt full of mud, was throbbing horribly.  
  
"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, suddenly standing in front of him.  
  
"I'm fine, Professor," Harry said. "It's just a cut."  
  
Dumbledore looked him over slowly. Finally, satisfied that Harry was okay, he stood up. "We should get you back to the hospital wing right away," he said. "That looks painful." He took Harry's glasses from him, tapped them with his wand, and handed them back to Harry, clean and whole. Harry slipped them on gingerly. His cheek had already swollen so that the round frames pressed painfully against his injured face. He wanted to wince, but that required moving his face.  
  
Ron and Hermione were staring at him, their eyes full of concern. Ginny was kneeling nearby. She had clearly scraped her knee badly when she dived onto Harry—blood was running down her robes. "You too, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said gravely, looking Ginny over.  
  
Harry wiped his hand on the back of his robes to clean it a bit, and reached out to Ginny. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. "Thanks," he said. He wanted to smile in a reassuring way, but that required moving his face.  
  
"You'd have done the same for any of us," she replied.  
  
"Mobilicorpus," said McGonagall. Higgins suddenly rose into the air in front of them. He was clearly unconscious. He was bound by ropes, but his head lolled from side to side like a balloon on a stick. Tonks pulled a fire-engine red handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Harry. He pressed it to his bloody cheek.  
  
"Well done, Bill," Dumbledore said, shaking Bill's hand.  
  
"I should have sent up the alarm sooner," Bill said, looking at Ginny's bleeding knee and Harry's bleeding face. Harry spat out another mouthful of blood. "I hesitated when I saw it was Higgins."  
  
"Any of us would have done the same," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "I've known Higgins since he was a boy here at Hogwarts. You did well."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Bill said, sounding more like a student who had just received praise after a difficult exam than his usual, cool self.  
  
"Where should we take him?" Tonks asked Dumbledore, nodding at the floating body of Higgins.  
  
"The hospital wing. He will need to be examined by Madame Pomfrey while we wait for Scullion to arrive," Dumbledore said. "Come along, then. Harry, Ginny, can you both make it to the castle, or should we conjure some stretchers?"  
  
They shook their heads. Harry could walk fine, and Ginny put her arm around Ron's shoulders for support. The walk back to the castle was silent and painful. Ron was half-carrying Ginny, whose muddy, scraped knee had swollen to the size of a quaffle. Every step jarred Harry's face painfully, and he had his hand clutched so tightly around his wand and tooth that he could feel them cutting into the palm of his hand. Higgins's body bobbed up and down behind them like a strange, flopping balloon being trailed along by Professor McGonagall.  
  
Madame Pomfrey looked horrified at the sight of Harry and Ginny. "I should've known!" she said as soon as she saw them. "I was afraid I'd be seeing you today. What happened? More dark curses?"  
  
"I hit a stone," Harry said, his voice rather muffled and distorted by all the swelling. Mud and rainwater were pooling at his feet, but Madame Pomfrey didn't seem to notice.  
  
"We'll mend that in just a moment," Madame Pomfrey said, as she helped Ginny onto a bed.  
  
"Be extra careful with this one," Tonks said as Higgins bobbed into the room.  
  
"Is that Cyril Higgins? What happened to him?" Madame Pomfrey said, motioning Tonks toward a bed near the far wall.  
  
"He attacked us," Ron said bitterly.  
  
"Cyril? Cyril attacked you?" Madame Pomfrey said, shocked.  
  
"He may be under the Imperius Curse, Poppy," Dumbledore said. He flicked his wand, and thick ropes sprang out, binding Higgins to the bed. "Either way, he must be kept under careful supervision. Try to keep him asleep; I'm sending for Scullion, and he should arrive shortly to deal with him. If Higgins wakes up, summon me at once."  
  
"Of course, Headmaster," Madame Pomfrey said, pulling the curtains around the bed. The teachers disappeared behind them for a moment.  
  
Harry looked at Ron. He wanted to ask, "Who is Scullion?" but his cheek was too painful to move. Ron, however, seemed to guess what Harry wanted to ask.  
  
"I don't know who he is, but the name's familiar," Ron said. "I think Dad mentioned him once before."  
  
"He's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Hermione said. "There was an article about him in the Prophet last week."  
  
"Higgins is an auror," Bill said. "Scullion is his boss."  
  
"Some auror," Ron muttered.  
  
Madame Pomfrey came bustling out of the curtains, and disappeared into a nearby cupboard. She returned carrying several glistening bottles of potion. One she carried into Higgins's enclosure; the others she sat on a table beside the bed.  
  
"I leave you in the able hands of Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore said. "If you'll excuse me. Bill, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I'd like a word with you all, if you please."  
  
Ron and Hermione cast Harry and Ginny worried glances as they followed Dumbledore out of the hospital wing.  
  
"Don't worry," Tonks said cheerfully. "I'm sure Madame Pomfrey will be able to mend you right up."  
  
"I think," Professor McGonagall said, her lips thin, "that under the circumstances it would be best to cancel tomorrow's quidditch match."  
  
"What?" Harry and Ginny both shouted. In Harry's case, it was more of a wet gurgling, but McGonagall's narrowed lips showed that she understood all the same.  
  
"Professor—they're only cuts! Madame Pomfrey can mend this kind of stuff in a minute!" Ginny protested. "We'll be good as new before suppertime—there's no need to cancel tomorrow's match!"  
  
"It's not your injuries that worry me," McGonagall said. "We have reserve players who can take your places if need be, do we not? No, it's security that I'm worried about." She sighed. "I want to win that quidditch cup again this year as much as the two of you do, but the quidditch pitch is very exposed. You'll be easy targets for any dark wizards in the vicinity—"  
  
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden stab of pain in his cheek made him close it again. Fortunately, Ginny had had the same thought.  
  
"But Professor, the entire school, including the professors will all be there! No one will try anything right under Professor Dumbledore's nose!"  
  
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together thoughtfully. After a long pause, she turned to Harry. "I'll speak to the headmaster, Potter," she said at last. "I'll send you our decision before breakfast tomorrow."  
  
Harry still wanted to protest, but couldn't get his mouth open enough. Finally, he nodded, dumbly. Ginny sighed in exasperation.  
  
"Come along, Tonks," McGonagall said. "We'll need to send a message to Molly Weasley straight away."  
  
"Take care," Tonks said to Harry and Ginny as they slipped out the door. For a moment, there was silence except for the sound of Madame Pomfrey tending to Higgins behind the curtain.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry," Ginny said quietly. "There's no way McGonagall will cancel the match."  
  
Harry shrugged in response. To be honest, he didn't understand why she'd want to cancel the match now. They'd known that Voldemort and his followers were on the loose all term, and there had been plenty of time to institute whatever security measures she wanted.  
  
"Now," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling out of the curtains and wiping her hands on her apron, "let's get those cuts clean. You first, Harry," she said, grabbing the bluish bottle she'd sat down earlier. She pushed his head gently sideways. "This may sting a bit," she warned as she poured the thick syrup onto his cheek. It fizzed as it rolled into the wound, and it hurt as though she were pinching it hard.  
  
He struggled and managed to open his mouth a bit, sending the bluish fizz running down his chin. "My tooth," he managed to spit out thickly. He opened his fist to show her the dirty tooth clutched there.  
  
"Ah," she said. "We'll mend that next. While that's working, let's see that knee, Ginny."  
  
It took forever for the fizzy potion to clean all the mud out of the gash in Harry's cheek, and even longer for the gargle Madame Pomfrey gave him to regrow his missing tooth. Ginny, whose knee had been mended in a trice, waited around until Harry was all patched up. He wasn't exactly good as new—his face was still swollen and a little tender—but he was confident that he'd be fine well before the morning's quidditch match.  
  
Madame Pomfrey insisted that he and Ginny stay for a little observation, so they changed into clean robes and ate their supper on trays brought up from the Great Hall. Afterward, Madame Pomfrey suggested they lay down for a brief rest. Ginny apparently hadn't been joking when she'd said she was exhausted, because she was fast asleep almost instantly. Harry, feeling a bit guilty, mentally promised to take it easier on the quidditch team once the first match was over.  
  
He leaned against his pillow for a long time, feigning sleep in order to satisfy Madame Pomfrey, but not really tired. He listened to her bustling about nearby, his mind wandering. Then, just when he was wondering if it wasn't time for him to pretend to wake up, he heard the door to the hospital wing open, and two pairs of footsteps enter. He heard them whispering.  
  
"—had no idea, of course. They're rigorously tested—all my wizards are, you know. Higgins is—"  
  
"Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore's voice interrupted quietly, "I'd like you to meet Augustus Scullion."  
  
"How do you do, Mr. Scullion," Madame Pomfrey whispered.  
  
"Charmed, I'm sure," Scullion whispered, back. "He hasn't given you any trouble?"  
  
Harry rolled his head slightly and opened one eye. They were standing in a tight group near Higgins's bed. Scullion was a rather tall and burly man. He had brown hair streaked with gray, bound in a neat ponytail, and a bristly goatee. One of the D.o.M.L.E. badges was fixed to his royal blue robes.  
  
"He's been asleep the whole time. I'm afraid there was rather a lot of damage from all the stunners—three to the chest from such powerful wizards, you know—but I managed to patch him up a bit."  
  
"As I was saying, Augustus," Dumbledore said, "we examined him for evidence of the Dark Mark, but found none. In light of his personal history, and Bill Weasley's account of the events, I believe he is under the Imperious Curse."  
  
"Impossible!" Scullion whispered, his eyes widening and his tone more one of shock than denial. "We examined all of aurors thoroughly just this morning, before we selected the Hogsmeade team!"  
  
"Then either he is voluntarily serving Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "or Death Eaters in Hogsmeade itself put the curse on him during the day."  
  
"But we've been carefully monitoring the village all day—only a few people came or left, and all of them cleared our security checks."  
  
"It is possible," Dumbledore said calmly, "that they either live in Hogsmeade, or came to the village some time ago in order to avoid your security. Of course, having the Imperius Curse performed under our very noses calls all of our security measures into question. The sooner we find out exactly what happened to Higgins, the better."  
  
"I'd like to examine him myself," Scullion said. "Of course, either way, I think we're going to have to put him in confinement."  
  
"Of course," Dumbledore said, holding the curtains around Higgins's bed aside for Scullion to walk through.  
  
Madame Pomfrey cast a quick look at the beds and spotted Harry's open eye. She pulled the curtains around Higgins's bed and crossed to Harry. She looked at his cheek again, and then nodded. "If you're awake, then you may go," she said. "Come straight back if you feel any pain."  
  
"What about Ginny?" Harry asked.  
  
"I'll send her along when she wakes up," Madame Pomfrey said, walking away. She disappeared behind the curtains.  
  
Harry took his wand and his old tooth (the new one still felt strange and slippery to him) and headed back to Gryffindor tower. He was still a bit hungry, and more than a little eager to talk to Ron and Hermione.  
  
The common room was crowded with people, most of them in high spirits after a day in Hogsmeade and with the prospect of both a quidditch match and the Halloween feast the next day. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione sitting in the best armchairs by the fire, Hermione writing in her new diary, and Ron watching Harry's model quidditch team zip around the miniature pitch. Harry came over and sank into an armchair beside them.  
  
"Harry! How's your face?" Hermione said, her eyes wide.  
  
"It's fine," Harry said quickly. "Just a little bruised. Madame Pomfrey said it would go away in a few days. It only got so bad because of the mud, you know."  
  
"Oh," said Hermione, tucking her diary away.  
  
"How's Ginny?" Ron asked.  
  
"Fine," Harry said. "Madame Pomfrey mended her knee in no time, but Ginny's having a nap now. She was pretty tired."  
  
"We were worried when you didn't turn up for dinner, but Madame Pomfrey wouldn't let us into the hospital wing to check on you," Ron said.  
  
"I think she thought we were kidding when we said they were perfectly normal injuries. She thought we were hiding some kind of horrible dark curses from her. Listen, I have to tell you something," Harry said, and quietly told them about Scullion's visit and McGonagall wanting to cancel the match.  
  
"Higgins is under the Imperius curse?" Hermione asked. But Ron interrupted her.  
  
"She can't cancel the match!" Ron said, horrified. "All the Slytherins will think we're backing out because we're scared! No way we can cancel now!"  
  
"I know," Harry said, nodding. "And after all we've trained—well, she just can't, that's all. Anyway, it doesn't make sense. They've known all term that Voldemort was out there—why are they worrying now?"  
  
"Well, until now, there were no attacks anywhere near here, were there?" Hermione said. "They thought that Voldemort was staying away from Dumbledore. But now it turns out he's only been biding his time. Of course they're worried. I thought they might do something like this. When did she say she'd tell you about the game?"  
  
"Before breakfast tomorrow," Harry said. He spotted Eva Gregory, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan headed toward them. "Don't tell the others," he said quickly. "I want everyone to play their best game tomorrow, and there's no sense in worrying them."  
  
Ron nodded just as Eva sat on the arm of his chair.  
  
"We heard what happened," said Eva, looking at Harry with concern. "Are you okay? You'll be good for tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry. "Just a little cut, nothing to worry about."  
  
"Where's Ginny?" Dean asked.  
  
"Having a nap," Harry grinned. "She fell asleep as soon as she hit the pillow."  
  
"I'm not surprised," said Dean. "She's always up until the middle of the night."  
  
"Are you all ready for tomorrow?" Harry asked, changing the subject. "Big game. We've got to beat Slytherin."  
  
"Of course we are," said Seamus, grinning in a determined sort of way.  
  
Harry nodded. "Everyone goes to bed in an hour," he said. "We're going to have breakfast together first thing, and I don't want anyone oversleeping."  
  
They nodded, and, grave faced, returned to their own corners of the common room. Harry joined Ron in prodding the quidditch team, both preparing and worrying about the next day, until a quick look at his watch told him that the hour had passed, and he stood and shouted "Team! Bed!"  
  
  
  
Of course, Harry couldn't sleep. He put on his pajamas and lay down in bed, but he felt wide awake. He listened to the sound of the rain and the other boys snoring. He couldn't help agonizing about how he'd tell the team the game was cancelled the following morning, and he felt restless and nervous.  
  
When he guessed he must have been lying there for hours, he quietly got up, put on his dressing gown, and went back down to the common room. The miniature quidditch team was still sitting on the table where he and Ron had left it. Harry sat down in front of it. All the players were lying in a heap, snoozing, except for the little Seeker, who was anxiously circling the field, ever searching for the miniscule snitch. Harry watched him go round and round, over and over, until his head began to droop, and he leaned back, dozing in his chair.  
  
"Harry Potter, Sir!"  
  
Harry jerked awake. "Wha—?" he said sleepily. The common room was full of murky gray light, and completely empty save for himself, and the little figure standing on the arm of his chair.  
  
"Dobby!" Harry said, smiling. "How are you?"  
  
"Dobby is doing very well, Sir," said Dobby, smiling. He looked good. He was no longer wearing Hermione's pile of elf-hats, having switched instead to one, giant, floppy straw monstrosity with a plastic daisy sticking out of it. He also had on a child's t-shirt with a picture of an owl on it. "Dobby is worrying about Harry Potter, though. Yesterday, Dobby is hearing that Harry Potter and his friends was attacked by a nasty dark wizard. Dobby is very worried about Harry Potter, sir," Dobby finished in a grave voice.  
  
"I'm fine, Dobby," Harry said. "I was hardly hurt at all."  
  
Dobby's chest swelled with happiness. "Dobby is very happy to hear it, Sir! Dobby wanted to see for himself, of course, so Dobby volunteered to bring Harry Potter this." Dobby lifted his hat, and Harry could see all manner of odd things piled underneath it. There were a number of odd buttons on a string, a few spare socks, a small cleaning brush that had lost half its bristles, a very small bottle with a peeling paper label, and a very small roll of parchment. Dobby pulled out the parchment and held it out to Harry.  
  
"Thanks," Harry said. He unrolled it and read,  
  
"Mr. Potter,  
  
After consulting with the headmaster, we have decided not to cancel or postpone the quidditch match scheduled for today."  
  
"Yes!" Harry said, letting out a sigh of relief. Dobby beamed. Harry kept reading.  
  
"However, security is still a problem. Therefore, we have instituted the following rules, effective until further notice.  
  
1— All quidditch materials and all players' brooms will be inspected before every match.  
  
2— No quidditch games or practices will take place after dark. All games will end one hour before sunset, regardless of whether or not the snitch has been caught.  
  
3— If any player exhibits signs of obvious distress due to magical interference, that player will be immediately pulled from the game, and replaced by a reserve player. If no reserve player is available, the match will end immediately.  
  
Good luck in today's game.  
  
Yours,  
  
Minerva McGonagall."  
  
Harry dropped the letter and sighed.  
  
"Is everything okay, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, peering nervously into Harry's face.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. "No. They aren't cancelling the quidditch match, but they're adding a bunch of special rules." It could have been worse, he thought to himself. But it could have been better. Why did he have to go into Hogsmeade yesterday?  
  
"Hey, Dobby, what time is it?" Harry asked suddenly. He'd never gotten around to replacing his watch.  
  
Dobby pulled a pocket watch on a bit of string from inside his t-shirt. "It's almost six o'clock, Harry Potter, Sir!" Dobby said cheerfully.  
  
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said. "I really appreciate it. How's Winky, by the way?" He added as an afterthought.  
  
Dobby shook his head. "Winky is still drinking very much, Sir," Dobby said. "Dobby is starting to think that Winky should leave Hogwarts and find a new family. But it won't be easy, Sir."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, unsure of how to reply to this. "Well—if there's anything we can do—"  
  
"Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, Sir!" Dobby smiled. "Thank you very much, Sir. And Dobby will tell Winky that Harry Potter asked about her, sir. Winky will be happy to hear that Harry Potter is remembering her."  
  
"See you, Dobby," Harry said as Dobby bowed and hurried out of the room.  
  
Harry dressed, and went down to breakfast ahead of the rest of the team, although Dean and Seamus had already been waking up. To his surprise, he wasn't the only one in the Great Hall.  
  
"Morning, Ginny," he said, sitting down beside her.  
  
"Morning," she said absently, as a blurb of porridge dripped off her spoon. Harry guessed she was just nervous about the upcoming game. He knew he was, and he expected the others would be. As the Gryffindor team slowly drifted in, Harry's suspicions were confirmed. Eva Gregory sat down a few seats away from Harry, looking unusually pale, and spent a solid twenty minutes buttering a piece of toast. Kirke didn't even bother, but just leaned against the table with a terrified look. Dean and Seamus came down together and sat down beside Ginny. Dean ate a few sausages that Ginny pushed onto his plate, and Seamus ate as though he might never get another meal. Harry warned him to slow down a bit, as visions of Seamus being sick outside the pitch floated through his head.  
  
Ron was the only one who didn't seem frightened at the prospect of their first quidditch game as a whole team. He came, a small grin on his face, into the Great Hall, but stopped and groaned before he slipped into the chair between Harry and Eva.  
  
"What?" Eva asked.  
  
"It's pouring outside," he said, looking at the ceiling. "We could've done with a bit of sunshine for our first match. Still—" he said, giving Harry a furtive look, "could've been worse."  
  
"It is worse," Harry said, and told them about the new "security" rules in effect. He finished up with, "Since the game has to end an hour before sunset, and considering the weather, I'd guess that gives us until about four o'clock. That's a solid five hours, but it'll be best if we can get the snitch early on. I'll be aiming for a fast capture, of course, but in this downpour," he nodded toward the ceiling, "it'll be difficult. So it'll be critical that we get plenty of goals and, Ron, you have to stop Slytherin from scoring at all costs. Dean and Seamus—I want you to be vicious with those bludgers. Stop at nothing."  
  
When he finished he realized the rest of the team were staring at him with expressions that stopped just short of horrified disbelief. Harry sighed.  
  
"Look, I know it's far from ideal, but it's nothing we can't manage. We can do this. We know we can do this. Now, you should all eat something—except for you, Seamus. Maybe you should go walk for a while or something."  
  
The Great Hall had filled with students, all chatting excitedly about the first match of the season, wearing their team colors, and toting their umbrellas. Hermione came down, and Ron filled her in on the new rules. Luna even wore her huge lion's head hat again, but this time, she'd found the time to add the snake in the jaws that she'd wanted the last year. Harry laughed out loud when Luna demonstrated the very realistic lion-chewing-on-snake effect she'd conjured up, but he was the only one. Ron gave Harry a look of disgust. Harry shrugged. Hermione politely complimented Luna's creativity.  
  
All too soon, they were heading down to the pitch, Harry feeling decidedly nauseous with his anxiety over the match. His desire to prove himself, his anger about the new rules, and everything else, had combined to make him feel much the same way he'd felt walking into the dragon paddock in his fourth year. The team changed into their robes, their faces pale and full of determination. Harry showed them all how to cast the water-repelling charms on their faces, and they headed up onto the field.  
  
At last, they emerged onto the pitch. The stands erupted with noise as the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws welcomed them onto the field. Harry waved to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was the new commentator now that Lee Jordan had gone. Harry very much doubted the commentating would have the same sort of colorful additions Lee had always provided. They took their positions. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Madame Hooch were inspecting each player's broom, as well as the balls. At last, they nodded their satisfaction, and walked off the field.  
  
Traditionally, the team captains greeted one another at the start of a match. Harry would have much preferred plunging his hand into a barrel full of frog guts over shaking Malfoy's hand, but he reached out obligingly.  
  
"Surprised you even bothered turning up, Potter," Malfoy grinned. "Thought you'd be too afraid of the big, bad dark wizards."  
  
"What, your dad and his chums?" Harry said. "Sorry, Malfoy. Last I heard they were still in prison."  
  
Malfoy jerked his hand away.  
  
The snitch was released. Harry saw it for only a fraction of a second before it was swallowed up by the sheets of silver rain. On Madame Hooch's whistle they kicked off. Harry wanted to watch his team, maybe shouting out encouragement, but he had to stay focused on catching the snitch as quickly as possible. He contented himself with listening to Justin.  
  
"And there they go. That's Slytherin's Warrington in possession—nice to see he's back to normal, wonder if we'll ever find out how he ended up in that toilet—and a solid pass to Adrian Pucey. Pucey headed up the pitch… he's headed for the goals… oh, a nice bit of bludger work by Seamus Finnigan. It's Finnigan's first year on the quidditch team, and he's off to a great start. So, that's Ginny Weasley in possession—Weasley previously played Seeker, of course—and a pass to Eva Gregory… wow! Look at her go! Pass to Kirke—where's he going?"  
  
Harry spun around, squinting his eyes toward the Slytherin side. What was Kirke doing?  
  
"Kirke seems to be running away from the Slytherin keeper—pass back to Gregory—Gregory shoots… Oh, an excellent save by Graham Pritchard! His first year on the Slytherin side as well, he's doing great. That's Warrington in possession again… Malcolm Baddock… Pucey… Warrington… he shoots! An easy block for veteran keeper, Ron Weasley!"  
  
Harry heard an impromptu chorus of "Weasley is our King" break out from the Gryffindor side of the pitch. He smiled.  
  
The game continued in stalemate for quite a while. Both teams had good chasers, but they each had even better keepers. Ron was good, but Graham Pritchard, the new Slytherin keeper, was amazing. He seemed to know every move Ginny and Eva were planning to make beforehand, and always managed to block the ring. Harry, meanwhile, focused his attention on finding the snitch, and tried hard not to spend all his time watching and shouting instructions to his team.  
  
"Come on, Eva!" he yelled encouragingly as she advanced on the Slytherin goals, but Pritchard blocked the ring again. Harry circled the pitch. He was starting to feel quietly alarmed. It was always hard to judge time while playing quidditch, but he guessed that they'd been at it for almost two hours, which meant their time was half-up.  
  
After another half-hour or so, Harry heard a loud roar from the audience. He had been concentrating on the snitch, and not on the game. He strained his ears. "Well done, Gregory, with an excellent assist by Ginny Weasley. Ten points to Gryffindor." Harry let out an excited whoop, and did a celebratory loop.  
  
"Don't get so excited, Potter," Malfoy said, flying nearby. "The sun's starting to go down."  
  
"Fine by me," Harry said. "We're winning. Anyway, I'll have the snitch in a minute." He hoped his voice sounded a bit more confident than he felt.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but was drowned out by another surge of noise.  
  
"Oooh, bad luck, Ron! An excellent score by newcomer Malcolm Baddock! Tie-score, ten-all."  
  
Malfoy smirked and flew away.  
  
Harry redoubled his efforts to find the snitch. His eyes were beginning to burn with the strain. Unfortunately, the heavy rain meant that he could barely see the rest of the team, much less a tiny, distant speck of gold. He circled the pitch. He was all too aware of the sky growing slowly darker. He strained harder, circling. Malfoy was nearby—Harry had his eye on him, just in case Malfoy spotted the snitch first. The intensifying rain spilled, icily into his eyes. He had to find it. He had to find it.  
  
Suddenly, a whistle cut across the game play. Harry jumped. Had Malfoy called a time-out? He looked across, but Malfoy looked just as startled as he was. Madame Hooch was signaling for them to come down. They both dropped to the ground.  
  
"What's going on?" Malfoy demanded. "Who called time-out?"  
  
"Sorry," Madame Hooch said, looking a little irritated herself, "but the game has ended."  
  
"WHAT?" Harry and Malfoy shouted together.  
  
"It's not dark yet!" Harry protested.  
  
"We haven't caught the snitch yet!" Malfoy added.  
  
"Come on, Madame Hooch!" Harry said. "Another thirty minutes. One of us has to at least score first—the game will end in a tie!"  
  
"I know," Madame Hooch said. "But we can barely see you in the rain, and Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster think it best." She sighed, and made a face that clearly said she agreed with them. "Sorry."  
  
Her whistle cut across the field, creating a rippling silence. The only sound was the pounding rain, and the odd "WHACK!" as the bludgers continued to zoom around the field, crashing into things.  
  
"This match is over!" Madame Hooch shouted. "Tie game!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*************  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Scorpion Lord: We also know that Snape started spying again because in OotP, Snape told Harry it wasn't his job to find out what the Dark Lord was thinking, and Harry said, "No, that's your job isn't it?" Personally, I think it was pretty risky for him to go back...  
  
Hagrid is going to see the giants every day! It's just not really important. If I write a sequal (Harry Potter 7??!) then they would be really critical, so I introduced them, but they aren't that big of a deal to this particular epic, so...  
  
Ahhhh, nice detective work. OK, I'll give you one. Yes, it is important that it was Mira who "found" the ring and brought it back to Harry. Why and how so, I won't say, though. ;)  
  
Kraeg001: I love cliffhangers. Thanks!  
  
KurtCobain444666: Glad you like it! Hope you keep reading.  
  
Janet: I think Harry would have liked to have dueled Higgins, but the others wouldn't have allowed it. Still, Harry will have plenty of chances to prove himself! (plus, Higgins isn't usually a bad guy!)  
  
Bigstu: Glad you've enjoyed it so far. Hope I didn't keep you waiting.  
  
Jbfritz: Thanks! Hope I didn't keep you waiting either!  
  
FireTempest: Whew! Thanks for the support on the Katie front! Hope you enjoyed the new chapter.  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: LOL! Ok, I won't keep you waiting so long anymore. I'll try and keep to weekly updates.  
  
The guardian charm is an interesting one. It has definite possibilities!  
  
Yes, Bill knows something about the ring that Harry doesn't. What that is will be revealed in the fullness of time...  
  
Sorry, no blood everywhere. A little bit of blood, though. Poor Harry, lost a tooth! Losing teeth is about the grossest thing for me...  
  
I promise to do my best to keep the chapters fairly regular. ^_^  
  
Prongs4: Thanks so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
  
Godrick Gal: Yeah, what *is* the deal with that ring??!! *wink* I'm so pleased that the suspense is driving you mad! That means I'm doing my job well. Thanks for the congratulations. My nephew is the world's cutest baby.  
  
Sasinak: If I didn't leave it in inconvenient places, how could I be sure that people would come back for the next chapter?  
  
Harry/Hermione 4 ever: I definitely think there's some sexual tension there (show me a pair of 16 year old male/female friends who don't have sexual tension!) but since JKR herself has said that Hermione and Ron have a thing going on, I lean more in that direction. Sorry! 


	17. The Note Incident

******Author's Note—Hello all! My apologies on the extreme lateness of this chapter. Here's the problem. You know how I always write a few chapters ahead before I submit? Well it's a bloody good thing I do, because I found a major plot hole looming on the horizon. In order to mend it, I had to rearrange the timing of a few key events, and had to rewrite about 75 pages of text! (FYI: As of Chapter 16, there were 201 pages online. I have 321 pages on my computer.) I think I've managed to salvage things... And hopefully, this will be the last major delay, and we'll be back on a good old weekly schedule. I moving back to the USA in about 3 months, and I'd really like the whole story to be finished and online by then. So keep your fingers crossed, and maybe this'll all be over by August!  
  
On another note, I turned another year older this week!  
  
Enjoy the new chapter, and I'll see you next week, promise,  
  
Neoepiphany*******  
  
********Edited to correct accidentally switched dialogue lines. Thanks to Iavala for pointing this out.********  
  
  
  
Chapter Seventeen  
  
The "Note" Incident  
  
The mood in the Gryffindor common room was decidedly gloomy that night. The team sat around, feeling low-spirited, irritated, and, in more than one case, horribly cheated. Harry felt worse than all of them; he was both angry with the professors for ending the game, guilty about having let down the team, and overcome with a feeling of melancholy. The team sat in a desolate ring before the hearth.  
  
The rest of the Gryffindors were remarkably supportive. "Don't worry," Neville said to Harry and Ron as they stared angrily into the common room fire. "No one blames you. Everyone knows you wanted to keep playing."  
  
"Yeah, and it's not like you lost," Parvati Patil added, sympathetically.  
  
"Those rules were unfair. That's all it is. They were totally unfair," Eva said, looking at Ron, who nodded. Ron seemed to have lost the ability to speak coherently without railing against McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Madame Hooch, so, after a few not-so-polite remarks from the other Gryffindors, he had opted to avoid speaking at all.  
  
"It was my fault they added those rules," Harry grumbled.  
  
"No it wasn't," said Hermione sharply. "It was Lord Voldemort's fault, and you know it." There was a shocked silence for a moment.  
  
"If only I'd caught the snitch," Harry sighed.  
  
"If you'd had more time," Ginny said, and let the rest of the sentence go unsaid.  
  
"If it had been a nicer day," Lavender Brown said, breaking the silence, "then you would have been able to see better, and it would have been different."  
  
"Well, the feast will cheer you up," Hermione said. "Come on, you lot."  
  
Harry had forgotten about the Halloween feast, but now, he remembered it with a surge of dread. He really didn't want to face the Slytherins—or the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, for that matter—after such an embarrassing fiasco.  
  
"Come on," Hermione said, pulling an irritated-looking Ron to his feet. "Everyone knows it wasn't your fault, and you'll feel loads better with some food in you."  
  
"No I won't," Ron said glumly.  
  
"Come on," she said, pushing him toward the portrait hole. The team stood slowly and followed her through the portrait hole, the rest of the Gryffindors trailing behind like the tail on a very slow-moving comet.  
  
Harry had expected gloating and mocking from the Slytherins. After all, everybody knew that those rules had just been put in place to protect the great Harry Potter. If Harry hadn't been on the team—if he hadn't gone into Hogsmeade yesterday—it would have been a nice, ordinary game. The Halloween feast would be crowned by one team celebrating victory (probably Gryffindor), and another drowning their sorrows in flagons of pumpkin juice and plates of rich food.  
  
To Harry's surprise, the Slytherins looked just as frustrated as the Gryffindors. The team was sitting together and glaring angrily at their plates, as though they had attempted to spite them in some way. Pansy Parkinson was leaning low over Malfoy, and, as they walked by, Harry distinctly heard her say "You know you could've have won, Draco, if it hadn't been for Potter and his special rules." Draco jabbed at something on his plate, his fork turned as though he were trying to kill whatever it was. Without looking up, he loudly said, "Ickle Potter must be happy that nothing happened to him on the big scary quidditch pitch. They knew we were going to beat them this time, that's all…"  
  
"Ignore him," Hermione said, steering Ron away from the table.  
  
The Gryffindors took their seats. Despite his moodiness, Harry had to admit that the Hall looked great. Thin banners of orange, black, and purple satin criss-crossed the air above the tables. There were four giant pumpkins, carved with frighteningly realistic trolls, dragons, and grotesque faces. Smaller pumpkins floated above the tables amid the candles, each with a leering face that bobbed up and down over them like nodding heads. Live bats fluttered back and forth across the ceiling, their shrill cries blending into the hum of conversation. A pipe-organ had somehow appeared behind the teacher's table, and the keys pressed themselves, playing a slow, eerie song. A fog had been enchanted to swirl around their ankles. The night sky, visible through the ceiling, perfected the illusion. The inky black clouds, occasionally peppered with flashes of lightning, gave the hall the perfect Halloween feeling.  
  
Ernie Macmillan and Luna Lovegood appeared behind Harry. "That was too bad about today's game, Harry," Luna said. "We were cheering for you."  
  
"Unjust!" Ernie said, waving his fist emphatically. "The decision to end the game was unjust! We just want you to know that the Hufflepuffs support you, and have chosen to view today's game as a Gryffindor victory."  
  
"Thanks, Ernie," Harry said. "Thanks, Luna." He felt a little bit better. Maybe everyone wouldn't blame him after all.  
  
"I think the Ravenclaws agree," Luna added. "Everyone knows you've never lost a game, Harry, except for that one. But no one could blame you. Everyone knows about you and dementors."  
  
Now Harry felt his ears go hot. "Thanks, Luna," he said, while Ron snickered slightly into his handkerchief.  
  
"See?" Hermione said as Ernie and Luna walked back to their own table. "People know it's not your fault."  
  
"I guess," Harry said, but he did feel a bit better.  
  
The feast was excellent. As always the food was superb, and for dessert, there were so many kinds of sweets and chocolates that they didn't know where to begin. They drank pumpkin juice and watched the ghosts' spirited re-enactment of the death of the Gray Lady, which was quite an eerie affair.  
  
As the Gryffindors stood to leave, Harry spotted a large, shaggy head moving in his direction.  
  
"Hello, Hagrid," Harry said.  
  
"Harry," Hagrid said, smiling. "Glad ter see yer not still down abou' the match." He leaned in conspiratorially. "We all know yeh woulda won. And Gryffindor will still get the cup—no doubt abou' it."  
  
"Thanks," Harry smiled weakly. Thinking about the match made some of his hard-won cheerfulness vanish.   
  
"How come yeh ain' been ter see me?" Hagrid asked, standing back up. People streamed past them, jostling Harry with their elbows.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said, fighting to keep upright against the flow of traffic out the door. He sidestepped into the empty space around Hagrid. "I was really busy with quidditch practice."  
  
"Yeah," Hagrid said, nodding. "Well, when yeh get the time."  
  
"Thanks. See you, Hagrid." Harry stepped back into the current of traffic.  
  
"An' don' worry abou' the match!" Hagrid called. Harry felt his neck grow warm again.   
  
His mood wasn't helped when, as he ran to catch up to Ron and Hermione, he overheard Terry Boot talking to another Ravenclaw. "They're not going to keep those rules for our matches, are they?" he was saying, his voice full of irritation. "After all, Potter's not on any of our teams."  
  
When he woke the following morning, though, the deadened feeling was gone. Instead, he felt quite the opposite. A seething ball of hot anger had attached itself to his stomach. Hermione was right. It wasn't just his fault that the match had ended in a tie. Partly, but not entirely. It was Lord Voldemort's fault. It was the teachers' fault. He promised himself that from now on, he would fight three times as hard.  
  
Unfortunately, he didn't have much time for fighting. The approach of the end of term meant that the teachers increased the amount of homework the sixth years were doing every night. For quite some time, Harry had been focused solely on quidditch, but their next game wasn't for months. They had to stagger their DA meetings, because the fifth years were complaining of overwork. Poor Ginny Weasley had a tendency to fall asleep every time she sat down; the scene of her snoozing on Dean Thomas's shoulder between classes was a common one.  
  
After a few weeks of intense lessons, the Gryffindors found themselves feeling exhausted. By Wednesday of a particularly difficult week they were all thinking longingly of the upcoming winter holidays, less than a month away. That Thursday was the worst. Their first lesson was Herbology, where Professor Sprout had them packing dragon dung and straw bedding around some fragile Giggling Rosemary plants. The downside was that the rosemary had a tendency to release streams of laughing gas if anyone moved too quickly or touched it too roughly, and by the end of the lesson, everyone was giggling uncontrollably. Madame Sprout passed around a flagon of antidote, but for the rest of the morning, they were all a little high-strung and excitable.  
  
Care of Magical Creatures was next. They had finally finished with the Spirit Creatures, which was a great relief to everyone. As they trooped across the muddy grounds to Hagrid's cabin, they speculated about what would be waiting for them. Hagrid had promised a surprise, but hadn't elaborated, and they'd all had enough experience with Hagrid's surprises to be afraid. Hagrid had thoughtfully thrown some long wooden planks over the pudding-like mud, and there was a quick scrambling to get up on the dry land.  
  
"Hold still a moment Ron," Hermione said, grabbing his shoulder. She leaned her weight against him as she pulled off her shoe and tipped out a stream of muddy water. Harry tried to stifle a laugh as Ron's face went from pale pink to vibrant purple, his eyes staring straight ahead. Hermione seemed oblivious.  
  
"Eew," she said, pulling her shoe back on and going after the other one. "I can't believe I forgot my boots."  
  
"Transfigure your shoes," Dean suggested.  
  
"I just might," Hermione said, and released Ron with a quick "thanks."  
  
Ron looked at Harry. "What?" he demanded, his bright-red face defiant.  
  
"Nothing," Harry replied, hoping he didn't look like he was trying not to laugh.  
  
"Aaah!" Pansy Parkinson's sing-song voice rose from behind them. "Look! Granger made her boyfriend blush!"  
  
Now Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't get the chance to snap back at Pansy. Just then, Hagrid emerged from around the edge of his hut. Despite the chill, he had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. "Over here!" he called to the students. "Hurry up, now! Come on!"  
  
The class trooped around the corner. Hermione sighed as the puddle flooded her shoes again. To Harry's surprise, the grounds behind the cabin were much warmer than those in front. Most of the mud seemed to have dried up already, and his scarf started to feel unpleasantly warm.  
  
Hagrid was standing next to a huge cage that he had built behind the cabin. It was tall enough for Hagrid to walk into without ducking, and wide enough to have comfortably housed a pair of hippos. It had been filled with leafy plants and sprawling, exotic ferns, and several long wooden planks were nailed from one side of the cage to the other at angles, rather like a child's jungle gym. There was even a rope-and-board swing hanging about four feet above the ground and swinging rhythmically in the breeze. The only thing missing, Harry thought, was any kind of magical creature.  
  
"Gather 'round," Hagrid said. "And try not ter make too much noise. It upsets 'em."  
  
"Upsets what, exactly?" came Draco's worried drawl.  
  
"It's not another spirit creature, is it?" asked Parvati in a worried tone.  
  
"Or a thestral?" said Neville.  
  
"Nah," said Hagrid, grinning. "Now if yeh'll all stan' real still and quiet for a minute, they'll show themselves. Don' anybody move, now. We want the put them at their ease." Someone coughed derisively. "That goes fer you too, Malfoy," Hagrid added. "Real still, now."  
  
The class froze awkwardly, barely moving and nearly silent for what felt like ages. Harry watched the swing and tried to stop himself from thinking, "this is stupid." His feet started to ache; he desperately needed to shift his weight to the other foot. He was about to try and move without being seen when he noticed the air around the swing seemed to be thickening. It almost looked solid.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. A few stifled gasps around the cage let him know he wasn't the only one seeing the creatures, and that was a relief. Sitting on the swing, rocking back and forth, was an apelike creature about the size of a gorilla. Its long silver hair blew back and forth in the breeze. Harry looked around and spotted two more, perched on one of the sideways planks, and picking fleas off one another. He had barely spotted these when a Slytherin girl sneezed, and all three vanished again.  
  
Hagrid was beaming. "Seen 'em? Who can tell me wha' they are?"  
  
Predictably, Hermione's hand rose.  
  
"Jus' Hermione?" Hagrid said, a twinkle in his eye. "No one else? How 'bout you, Harry?"  
  
Harry slowly shook his head. "No idea," he said. Malfoy snickered.  
  
"Oh, you know then, Malfoy?" Hagrid said quickly. Malfoy's grin vanished and he muttered something. "Righ'. Hermione?" Hagrid said.  
  
"They're Demiguise," Hermione said. "From East Asia. They make themselves invisible as a defense mechanism, and their fur is used to make invisibility cloaks." Ah, thought Harry. So that was why Hagrid had called on him.  
  
"Ten points ter Gryffindor," Hagrid said. "Now these three're on their way to Magical Zoo of London, but their new habita' won' be ready for a few months, so I volunteered ter take them. We're goin' to feed 'em, keep 'em groomed, and collect their hair in the spring."  
  
An excited whisper rose among the students.  
  
"They're so sweet," Lavender cooed.  
  
"Are they dangerous?" asked Seamus.  
  
"Not really," said Hagrid in a tone that clearly indicated he thought this was a bad thing, but probably shouldn't be held against the demiguise themselves. "Now, it's a lot colder here than where they come from, so the firs' thing yer gonna learn is the air-warming charm. Gather 'round, now."  
  
They practiced the charm and then spent the rest of the lesson holding out fists full of fruit to the demiguise. It was a little strange feeling the clumsy fingers snatch away the fruit but not being able to see anything. At last, the bell rang, and they headed back to the castle, everyone eagerly speculating about what would be done with the demiguise fur.  
  
"It's really valuable," Seamus said. "Maybe we'll sell it and split the money!"  
  
"Maybe," Dean said thoughtfully, "they'll make invisibility cloaks out of it. Three demiguise, right? That's at least three cloaks, easy."  
  
"Maybe three invisibility cloaks and a pair of invisible mittens," Ron said. Lavender rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'd love an invisibility cloak," Parvati said. "You could go anywhere, anytime, and not worry about Peeves."  
  
"I'd sneak to the kitchens at night like Fred and George Weasley used to," Seamus said.  
  
"Imagine the tricks you could play! You could set off a load of dung bombs in the middle of the Great Hall and no one would see you!" Dean suggested.  
  
"I wouldn't mind playing a trick or two on Malfoy," said Ron.  
  
"What about you Harry? What would you do with an invisibility cloak?" Dean asked.  
  
"Me?" Harry squeaked. "Oh. Er, I dunno. I guess just go places after hours, that sort of thing."  
  
"Not very creative Harry," said Seamus. "You'll want to work on that if you get one of the cloaks."  
  
The bell rang again, and the class walked back toward the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom. They all liked Defense against the Dark Arts. Tonks may not be their best teacher ever, but she was good enough. After they finished wards, they had done more jinxes and counter hexes, some of which Harry and the DA already knew, but most of which were new. Harry was listening to Seamus and Dean's increasingly elaborate plans for potential invisibility cloaks, so he didn't notice anything amiss until they were right outside the classroom door. He crashed into Ron, who had stopped in front of him.  
  
The door was dark and shut tight. A note, its green ink still shiny and fresh, was pinned to the door.  
  
"Professor Tonks was called away on urgent business. She asks that you spend this time working on your Hoodwink Hex essays.  
  
Albus Dumbledore,  
  
Headmaster."  
  
"Yes!" said Dean. "Free period! Who's up for quidditch?"  
  
No one else shared his enthusiasm. "We've never had a Dark Arts lesson cancelled before. Do you think it's something to do with You-Know-Who?" said Lavender, gripping her bag tightly.  
  
Harry frowned. He could only think of one reason why Tonks would be called away so suddenly.  
  
"There wasn't anything in the paper this morning," Hermione said.  
  
"That was hours ago," Neville said. "And why isn't someone else teaching us? Like when Professor Lupin was—was ill?"  
  
"Maybe they all have lessons?" Parvati suggested.  
  
"I know Flitwick and Sprout do," Ron said, "because Eva has charms now and Ginny has herbology."  
  
"Eva? You have Eva Gregory's schedule memorized, now?" Hermione asked, her voice low.  
  
"No!" Ron said too quickly. His cheeks started to flush again. "Actually, she, er, she wrote me a note a week ago." He stared at a point on the wall near the door.  
  
"A note?" Hermione said icily. "What kind of note?"  
  
"I know McGonagall's free," Harry said quickly, trying to mask Lavender and Parvati's giggles, "because we pass her office on the way here, and she's always in there. We can go ask her what happened, if you like."  
  
"I'm just on my way to the library," Dean said, walking toward the quidditch pitch. "See you later. Good luck."  
  
"Yeah, me too," said Seamus, walking toward the owlery. "See you at lunch."  
  
In the end, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to McGonagall's office, but Harry got the impression that he was the only one of the three who was thinking about what he was doing.  
  
"A note?" Hermione whispered again.  
  
"It's not like I asked her to write it," snapped Ron. "And what do you care, anyway?"  
  
Harry knocked on McGonagall's office door. Silence thundered through the hallway. There was a long, rather forced, pause.  
  
Hermione whispered, "Yes, but Eva Gregory—really—"  
  
"What's wrong with Eva?" Ron whispered irritably.  
  
"Nothing," Hermione hissed. "I don't know. She's just so— well, you know. Annoying. Back-handed."  
  
"She's a great chaser," Ron said.  
  
Hermione ignored him. "You didn't write her back did you?" she said.  
  
Harry knocked again. Another silence rolled through the hall.  
  
"You did, didn't you," Hermione whispered.  
  
"So what if I did?" Ron demanded. "You write to Krum!"  
  
"That's different!" Hermione hissed, her voice rising. "He's my pen friend!"  
  
"Fine," Ron said, no longer bothering to whisper. "Then she's my pen friend."  
  
"She can't be your pen-friend if you live in the same building!"  
  
Harry sighed. "I don't think McGonagall's here," he said. Hermione and Ron were both slightly pink-cheeked.  
  
"Then we're free," Ron said. He checked his watch. "Lunch starts in a few minutes. Want to go to the Great Hall?"  
  
"I'm going to the library," Hermione sniffed. She pulled her bag up on her shoulder and disappeared down the hallway in a great hurry.  
  
Ron let out a low whistle as he and Harry turned toward the Great Hall. "What was all that about?" he said, nodding back toward Hermione. "One stupid note and she gets all upset!"  
  
Harry frowned. Was it possible that Ron really hadn't noticed? Maybe it was time to broach the subject. "Er—um, Ron? You know how you get upset when she writes to Krum?" he said carefully.  
  
"Can you blame me?" Ron said. "We both know he wants to be more than just her friend, doesn't he?"  
  
"Er—right," Harry agreed. "And, er, you know how Eva always tries to sit right next to you?"  
  
Ron frowned. Harry thought he was about to say something, when he let out a yelp and grabbed his neck. Harry looked around.  
  
  
  
"Oooh, naughty ickle students, skiving off their classes!" Peeves swooped above their heads, waggling his eyebrows, his bowtie spinning. He aimed his pea shooter at Harry, who ducked just in time. "I ought to tell on you I ought."  
  
"Push off, Peeves," Ron said. "We aren't skiving off—class was cancelled."  
  
"Fibber!" Peeves said in sing-song. "Didn't anyone ever tell you you mustn't tell lies? I'll have to teach you a lesson. Yes indeedy, a nice little lesson about good manners." Grinning wickedly, he produced, seemingly from nowhere, an oversized bag of Weasley's Best #1 Sneezing Powder (extra strong).  
  
"Peeves," Harry said, backing away. He looked over his shoulder for a place they could run to where Peeves wouldn't be able to dump the bag on them. "Don't do it, Peeves."  
  
"You've got to learn!" Peeves said in sing-song, his bowtie spinning faster. "Got to learn not to tell nasty lies!"  
  
"We aren't lying!" Ron said. "Honestly!"  
  
Peeves paused. He tapped one finger against his head, as though thinking hard. Then, without a word, he up-ended the bag of sneezing powder. It lingered in the air, creating a thick white mist.  
  
Harry held his breath, but it was no good. He sneezed. Every sneeze meant he inhaled more of the powder, which only made him sneeze more. His eyes watered so that he couldn't see. He ran out of the powder cloud by running away from Peeves's laughter, and collided with Ron. They hurried, sneezing, toward the hospital wing.  
  
Finally, the pushed through the door. They both sneezed, hard.  
  
"Bless you," said a giggling voice.  
  
"Weasleys' sneezing powder, again?" Madame Pomfrey said. "I do wish you'd have a word with those brothers of yours! I've had no end of students down here after run-ins with their products. Bless you."  
  
It took her only a few minutes to sort the two of them out. A pair of giggling first year girls, on of whom was sporting a large purple bruise across her cheek, watched them. Ron explained to Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"You say this was in the corridor past the transfiguration classroom?" she said. "How much did Peeves drop, exactly? Not the whole bag?"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, blowing his nose. "And it was the extra strong stuff."  
  
Madame Pomfrey signed resignedly. "They'll be coming in here any minute. I better call Mr. Filch, and tell him to get it cleaned up before it's tracked all over the school."  
  
Harry and Ron left, and headed back toward the Great Hall. By now, lunch was in full swing, and they spotted Hermione sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. Ron sat, somewhat hesitantly, beside her.  
  
"I thought you'd have finished eating by now," Hermione said.  
  
"We got caught by Peeves and had to go to the hospital wing," Harry explained. "Don't ask," he added, seeing the look on her face. "Get any homework done?"  
  
"A little," Hermione said.  
  
They ate their beef casserole in silence for a moment. Then, Ron and Hermione both spoke at once.  
  
"I'm sorry I—"  
  
"I didn't mean to—"  
  
They stopped and smiled.  
  
"It's okay," Hermione said.  
  
"Totally forgotten," Ron agreed.  
  
Harry tried not to roll his eyes. He looked away toward the staff table. His eyes scanned the chairs, and he paused.  
  
"Hermione," he said at last, "were any of the teachers here when you came in?"  
  
"No," she said. "No one. Not even Filch. I thought it was odd."  
  
***********************  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Scorpion Lord: Criticism! What?!! I'm so angry!!!  
  
Just kidding. I love criticism! Let's see, here...  
  
You're right. I am evil. I'm dropping hints, which I probably shouldn't be, but I can't help it. I'm a horrible tease. Anyway, I can't give you anymore than what I did without spoiling the big surprises! So go punch a pillow.  
  
Ahhh, the Ginny issue. Well, there is definitely sexual tension. And I definitely like Ginny. But don't forget—Ginny's seeing another boy. And I'm also not much of an H/G shipper. I have my sights on another girl for him, but I'll keep that to myself. But, as I've said before, Harry probably won't pair-up in this particular epic, although others will. (As this chapter probably made obvious.)  
  
You're right, I pushed the classwork into the backseat for a while. Mainly because Harry was very focused on other things (namely, quidditch.) They are doing work, although not as much as last year, and I was kind of skirting over it. Well, it comes back into the foreground now, so I hope you approve.  
  
Harry hasn't been very focused on Voldemort for a while. In actuality, he was putting it out of his mind a bit, I think. But the possessing Voldemort goodness will return with a vengeance very soon.  
  
You're right. I haven't been giving my attention to a lot of students. I'll work on that.  
  
I always welcome "sane advice"!! In fact, I'd like more. ;) Don't hold back—I'm a big girl, I can take it.  
  
EllaSteele: Welcome! I'm really pleased that you like the story, and I have added you to the update list. Hope you like the upcoming chapters!  
  
Godrick Gal: Yeah, I thought that was pretty cool when Ginny jumped in front of Harry. I went, "aaaah!" And I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Hopefully, it won't happen again.  
  
Jbfritz: Thanks!  
  
Lord of Darkness13: Thanks! Welcome to the story.  
  
Harryp123: Thanks.  
  
Prongs4: Yeah, tie games suck. But, they can't win them all...  
  
Jedi Buttercup: Thanks. I use those same criteria for evaluating Year6 fanfics. By the by, I liked your Stargate fanfic.  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: Sorry I kept you waiting! Let's see... I'll say officially that Cyril was under the Imperious curse. That's a pretty looming threat, I think, because it means that ANYBODY could be a bad guy, and not even know it.  
  
Big Stu: Thanks, mate. Felt right to me, too. More on the way.  
  
Wynjara: I know, it was pretty evil of me to end the game there. (mwahaha) As for the jewelry, don't forget that Bill said that silver held the spell best. Lupin's is gold, and they have to respell it every so often. Sirius's ring is made of carved onyx. So if it is connected to the network spell, then they'd have to have a way to respell it—rather frequently, I'd think, onyx not being metallic.  
  
If anyone was overlooked in this batch, you have my apologies. I'm writing this from a school computer, and they've added fanfiction.net to their list of "banned sites" (WHY?) so I'm trying to get everyone off my email. Don't feel left out or unappreciated! You're not.  
  
See you all next week! *promise!* 


	18. A Curious Absence

*********Author's note: Welcome to the next chapter! Up on time, as promised! I got lots of writing done last weekend, so we should be in good stead for a while. There's a little bit more R/Hr-ness in this chapter, but we do actually focus more on the current mystery...  
  
Also, the demiguise weren't my invention, I'm afraid! Credit to JKR for that one—I borrowed them from Fantastic Beasts.  
  
Enjoy,  
  
Neoepiphany**************  
  
Chapter Eighteen  
  
A Curious Absence  
  
Harry and Ron spent their afternoon finishing their homework. Snape had assigned a rather nasty essay on the composition and uses of the Stinking Stew, and Hermione had agreed to check Harry and Ron's while they were at quidditch practice. Harry had just finished his, and started on a map of galaxies visible in the western sky after the autumnal equinox, when Hermione turned up to collect them for dinner.  
  
Harry's eyes flicked automatically to the staff table. Except for Filch and Madame Pince, it was entirely empty. He and Hermione exchanged a frown.  
  
During quidditch practice, everyone was exchanging stories of the professors' mysterious disappearances.  
  
"It's bizarre," Eva said solemnly. "All of them at once? And I was watching the Care of Magical Creatures class down by Hagrid's hut during my charms lesson. Halfway through the period, Dumbledore came out of the castle, said something to Hagrid, and then Hagrid sent all the students away. Two minutes later, Hagrid walked off into the forest with his crossbow and I didn't see him again."  
  
"McGonagall actually cancelled our afternoon lesson," said Ginny.  
  
Ron sputtered. "McGonagall? Cancel a lesson? She's not dead is she?"  
  
There was a pause. Finally, Ginny spoke. "I don't think so. But something big is happening."  
  
"You'd think they'd tell the prefects, at least," Ron said.  
  
"Not if it's to do with Vol—You-Know-Who," Harry said.  
  
There was another silence.  
  
"Potions was cancelled, too," Kirke said, almost as an afterthought.  
  
  
  
Potions was the Gryffindors' first lesson the following morning. Despite his extreme dislike of the class, Harry was actually eager to go. He wanted to find out if the teachers were back, first, and then if Snape would actually tell them what had happened.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly ate their breakfast. Whatever the excitement of the previous day had been, it must have been resolved. The staff table was full again, although the teachers all looked unusually sleepy and a little distracted. There was little conversation. Hagrid kept missing his mouth with his fork, sending little rivers of egg and ketchup through his bushy beard.  
  
Hermione dropped her newspaper. "Nothing too unusual. Those two missing muggles are still missing, but there were no actual Death Eater attacks yesterday," she said. Harry was perplexed.  
  
They walked to the dungeons, and took their usual seats in the Potions classroom. "You know, I almost wish that whatever the crisis was had lasted until just after this lesson," Harry said. "I could've done with a day without Snape."  
  
"Harry!" Hermione said. "Don't say that—it could have been anything!"  
  
"I have to agree with Harry," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. "A vacation from that greasy-haired git sounds—"  
  
He froze, his face whitening slightly, as the door behind them slammed shut. Ron heard Draco Malfoy snigger.  
  
But it wasn't Snape's cold voice, taking points from Gryffindor that they next heard. It was a warm, unfamiliar voice.  
  
"Good morning," the wizard said, walking to the front of the class. "I am Professor Marcus Garlick." He was a tall, sturdily built man in gray robes, his graying brown hair combed respectably back. He carried a large black leather case, and a pair of half-spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "I will be filling in for Professor Snape for a while."  
  
"Where is he?" whined one of the Slytherin girls.  
  
"Haven't the foggiest," Professor Garlick said dismissively, unpacking an elaborate potion-kit that seemed to be rather larger than the case that held it.  
  
"When will he be back?" Malfoy demanded.  
  
"Couldn't say," Professor Garlick said. "But the headmaster asked me to stay for some time, to I'd guess he's rather busy indeed. Now, I understand you've just finished the Stinking Stew? If you'll turn your attention to the blackboard, we'll just start work on the Draught of Power."  
  
Professor Garlick carefully explained each step, while they took notes on the trickier bits. He pointed out all the places where they were likely to make mistakes and told them exactly what would happen if they did so. As he spoke, step-by-step instructions appeared on the blackboard in elaborate and curly script. He paused periodically to quiz them on their understanding of potion-making in general.  
  
"—and once that's boiling nicely, you'll add three drops of giants' tears, which you can come collect from this bottle here. Incidentally, who can tell me what other potion famously requires giants' tears?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot up.  
  
"Yes, Miss—?"  
  
"Granger, Professor. The Brutal Brew's main ingredient is giants' tears, and is otherwise known as the Crying Brute's potion because of it," Hermione said. "Of course, Giants are really rare now, so the cost of making the Brutal Brew is astronomical."  
  
Draco Malfoy made a small noise of disgust.  
  
"Good. Five points to, eh, Gryffindor. It is true about the cost of giants' tears. This bottle cost me the price of a new racing broom, but," he chuckled, "it's Hogwarts picking up the bill, so no harm done. Now, when the tears are added, the Draught should turn bright red. You have about ten seconds to add—"  
  
He explained the rest of the potion, and they got to work mixing it up. It wasn't that difficult, once they'd had it properly explained to them, and Harry mixed his ingredients peacefully. He felt a little anxious about Snape and whether he was okay, but the feeling was quickly pushed below his relief at not having to deal with Snape for a good, long while.  
  
Suddenly, a column of gray-blue smoke began to fill the room. The Slytherins erupted into laughter.  
  
"Ah," said Professor Garlick, appearing beside Seamus, who was flushed in anticipation of attack. "Yes. Who can, eh, tell me what Mr.—uh—?"  
  
"Finnigan," Seamus said.  
  
"What Mr. Finnigan did wrong?" Proffesor Garlick concluded.  
  
"He added too much nettle brandy," Malfoy said smugly.  
  
"That's right," Professor Garlick nodded, prodding Seamus's pudding-like potion with his wand. "I'd say that was about 1/3 cup too much, Mr. Finnigan. Now, who can tell me how we can put it right?"  
  
The entire class was in awe. Someone who showed them how to correct their mistakes rather than berating them? It was almost beyond belief. Professor Garlick even complimented Harry's potion when he turned it in.  
  
"Fine color, there, boy. Looks a bit weak, but still, excellent color," he said.  
  
"That was," Ron said as they walked toward the courtyard for their break, "beyond a doubt, the best Potions lesson we've ever had."  
  
"I hope he never leaves," Harry nodded.  
  
Hermione frowned. "Hmmm," she said.  
  
"You can't tell me you prefer Snape?" Ron said.  
  
"Don't be stupid," Hermione said. "It's just—well, when has Snape ever missed anything? Something horrible must have happened to him."  
  
"We can hope," Ron nodded.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione said. "I'm surprised at you!"  
  
"Just joking," Ron said quickly.  
  
"I just think it seems strange," Hermione said. "Everyone vanishing, and then Snape goes missing."  
  
"So do we," Harry assured her. "The whole thing definitely smells of Voldemort."  
  
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He may be a foul, nasty, evil, sick little troll…"  
  
"But he's our troll," Hermione finished. "And if Voldemort did take him, well, it was probably because of… er, because of… Because of his work with the Order," she finished lamely.  
  
"That's enough, Hermione," Ron said, suddenly serious. "Come on, let's go to transfiguration. I want to get a good guinea pig this time."  
  
"What do you mean, a good guinea pig? They're all the same," Hermione said.  
  
"That one I had yesterday absolutely refused to turn into a cauldron. It was stubborn."  
  
Harry trailed behind them, only half-listening to their bickering. He knew what Hermione had almost said, and judging from Ron's reaction, Ron knew it too. If Snape had been taken by Voldemort, it was probably because of Harry. Because he came to help Harry that summer. His mind floated to Cyril Higgins, the auror who had attacked them in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore had thought that he was under the Imperius curse. Had someone else been cursed too? Maybe someone at Hogwarts? Or had Snape simply been sent on a long assignment elsewhere? The teachers' absences meant that there was definitely something up, but nothing had been in the Daily Prophet.  
  
Harry decided that he would ask McGonagall about it as soon as Transfiguration was over. Surely she would tell him if Snape had been kidnapped by Voldemort. He got through the class by focusing on transfiguring his raccoon, which he managed to turn into a satisfactory cauldron, although, as Professor McGonagall pointed out, it still had stripes. Harry packed up early, hoping to corner her the second the bell rang.  
  
"Starting next week, we will be beginning human transfiguration," McGonagall announced, as a pair of girls collected all the transfigured animals. "I want to remind you that human transfiguration is difficult, and potentially dangerous magic. You will all need to do as much preparation as possible. To that end, I want sixteen inches of parchment on the necessary preparations for human transfiguration, due at the start of the lesson on Monday." The class groaned. McGonagall smiled. The bell rang.  
  
Harry jumped out of his seat and pushed past Ron, running to the front of the class. McGonagall didn't look surprised. "What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?" she said, gathering her books. "Surely you understood the homework?"  
  
"Of course," Harry said. "I wanted to know what happened to Professor Snape."  
  
McGonagall seemed to be prepared for this question. "Professor Snape's business is none of yours, Potter. I suggest you focus your attention on your homework. And need I remind you that you have a lesson with me coming up? I'll be quizzing you over the Blood Charms."  
  
"But Professor—"  
  
"No, Potter. No arguments. This doesn't concern you," McGonagall said. She glowered at him over her spectacles. "Do not try to get involved." She took her books, and left the classroom.  
  
Ron and Hermione were waiting for him outside the room. "Anything?" Ron asked.  
  
"Not a word," Harry replied.  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I think we over-reacted after potions. It's always possible that Snape's just taking a holiday or something," she said, but even she didn't sound very convinced.  
  
They had lunch, and afterward, they waved goodbye to Hermione, who was off to her Ancient Runes class. Harry and Ron had a free period before their Astronomy lesson.  
  
"Want to go see Hagrid?" Ron suggested. Harry nodded, so they trudged down to Hagrid's cabin. Harry knocked on the door. There was no sound within.  
  
"Maybe he's round back," Ron suggested. "You know, with the demiguise."  
  
Harry nodded, and they walked around the cabin to the warm, moist air surrounding the demiguise cage. One of the demiguise didn't bother to make itself invisible. It blinked its black eyes at Harry. There was no sign of Hagrid.  
  
"He must have a lesson or something," Ron said. "Or maybe he's visiting Grawp and Hedgarr."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Fang didn't bark when we knocked. Wherever Hagrid is, he took Fang with him, and I'll bet that Fang won't go near the giants."  
  
Ron shrugged, and they walked back up toward the castle. Harry's mind wandered, thinking about disappearances and kidnappings. An idea popped into his mind. The last time someone had vanished, Harry had found her, hadn't he? Couldn't he do it again? Of course, he didn't know for sure that Voldemort had Snape, but it was a good guess.  
  
Dumbledore's voice drifted through his mind. "I must ask you not to reinitiate the link. By doing so, you are putting yourself in grave danger." And then Hagrid's voice: "Yeh could be hurt—or killed—or driven mad." Harry shook his head. He'd done it once; he could do it again.  
  
"Uh-oh," Ron said.  
  
"What?" Harry said, jerked back to the present. He followed Ron's gaze toward the lake, where a crowd of Slytherins was standing around.  
  
"We better get out of here before they see you," Ron said.  
  
"I'm not afraid of a bunch of Slytherins," Harry said, looking at Ron incredulously.  
  
"Not them," Ron said, nodding past the Slytherins. "Those two."  
  
Harry looked past the two Slytherin fourth year girls in the front of the crowd, and he saw what Ron had been looking at. The Slytherins were talking to a pair of wizards who were unmistakably reporters. One of them was carrying a camera, while the other was talking to a pair of teary-eyed second year girls and making notes on a note pad. "What makes you think they're after me?" Harry said.  
  
"Come on," Ron said. "When has a reporter ever not leapt at the chance to interview you?"  
  
"Good point," Harry said. "Come on, we can go back by the quidditch pitch."  
  
"Think they were here about Snape?" Ron asked.  
  
"I don't know," Harry muttered.  
  
They made it back to the common room just before Hermione did. They told her about the reporters, and she frowned. "Hmmm," she said again.  
  
"What?" Ron asked.  
  
"I overheard Flitwick and Filch talking about security measures," Hermione said. "I think something big happened, and it happened here."  
  
"You think it has to do with Snape?" Ron asked.  
  
"I have three guesses," Hermione said, motioning for them to lean in. "One is that Death Eaters took Snape from somewhere near Hogwarts, and they're worried about two attacks so close to home. The second is that someone inside Hogwarts was involved in the attack—if it was really an attack." She paused.  
  
"And?" Ron prompted.  
  
"Well—and I don't necessarily think this is the case, but—well, it could be that Snape turned on the Order and went back to Voldemort," she said, her voice a whisper.  
  
"Aha! I've been saying it for ages," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. Triumph gleamed in his eyes. "Why did everyone think he left Voldemort in the first place?"  
  
"Dumbledore trusts him," Hermione said.  
  
"Trusted him," Ron corrected, his tone defiant. Hermione gave him a scathing look.  
  
"Dumbledore's not infallible," Harry said absently. "I think we need to find out for sure."  
  
"How?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I can—" Harry began, but he was interrupted by Ron's elbow in his side. Ginny Weasley and Eva Gregory had walked up behind them. Hermione looked coolly at Eva, then bent over her bag, busying herself with fiddling with the catch.  
  
"Hi, Ginny, Eva," Harry said.  
  
"Are you three coming to dinner?" Eva asked. "We were just going down and thought we'd ask you along." Eva smiled down at Ron. Ron's ears turned pink.  
  
"Not just—" Harry started.  
  
"Sure," Ron said, standing up. Hermione glared at him from under her eyebrows.   
  
They trooped down to dinner. Harry noticed that Eva tried to walk close to Ron, and Hermione kept looking at her with murder in her eyes. Despite all their earlier worry, Harry wanted to laugh.   
  
"You could always talk to him," Harry said.  
  
"About what?" Hermione said. Harry felt a bit torn. On the one hand, he didn't want to get involved in this. On the other, Hermione had helped him out before; he owed her.  
  
"Look, it's not that he doesn't get it," Harry said. "It's just that, well, girls never really bothered with Ron before."  
  
"Hmmph," said Hermione, her face reddening. Harry closed his mouth. Best not to get involved after all.  
  
They took their seats, and Hermione managed to sandwich Ron between Harry and herself, so Eva sat exactly across from him. Harry and Ginny speculated about all the goings-on around Hogwarts, but the other three didn't contribute much to the conversation. Harry ate second helpings of pork chops and applesauce trying not to listen to Ron telling jokes, Eva giggling like an idiot, and Hermione's loud, disapproving sniffs.  
  
After dinner, Harry and Ginny sat together in the common room, working on their homework. Ginny was finishing a History of Magic essay, while Harry got started on his transfiguration homework. Ron and Hermione were halfway across the room, sitting at a little table spread with books, and bickering.  
  
"You know," Ginny said to Harry as Ron and Hermione's argument rose in volume, "they'd both be a lot happier if they just talked about it. I offered to have a word with Ron for Hermione, but she refused."  
  
"I'm staying out of it," Harry said. "I tried to talk to Ron once, but—" He shrugged. Harry flipped through his book, looking for the chapter on human transfiguration.  
  
"Fine Ron! Fine! You just do what you want, then!" Hermione suddenly shouted. Her face was bright red. "I don't care."  
  
"What are you getting so mental about?" Ron shouted. Everyone in the common room was staring at them; a couple of second year girls were giggling.  
  
"You ought to know, Ron!" Hermione shouted and stormed away. Harry and Ginny stared. "And a fat lot of help you two are!" she shoued as she passed them. Her eyes were red and shiny.  
  
Ron stared after her as she stomped up the stairs. "Well," he said. "Well."  
  
"Ron," Ginny said soothingly. "Come and sit down." She patted the chair beside her.  
  
"Shut up, Ginny," he said, and stomped up the stairs noisily.  
  
The common room was silent for a moment, then erupted into whispering and giggles.  
  
Ginny looked at Harry and sighed. "I think we'd be a lot happier if they just talked about it, too."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*******************  
  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
Wynjara: Yes, indeed. A good sign of conspiracy! *mwahaha*  
  
Silent Song: Actually, no. I don't care for Piers Anthony at all, but you're not the first to say that. It's the thing with Mira's vocabulary, I know. I didn't even know that Anthony did the same thing until someone accused me of copying. *sigh* But by then it was too late to go back and change it... Anyway, enjoy the story.  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: What, you don't want the story to end? Really? Aawww!  
  
Oh, I know. That Michael Corner gets under my skin. Yes, the rules will apply to all the quidditch teams until the teachers take them away. And Ernie and Luna weren't exactly hanging out, they just both walked over at the same time. (Sort of as designated spokesmen for their houses.)  
  
No Harry pair up in this story! However, I do think it's time to intensify the 'thing' between Ron and Hermione, so expect a bit more of that. (Mainly in this chapter and the next one)  
  
Yep, the demiguise were Rowling's invention, which I cunningly borrowed. And Peeves was meant to be a bit Umbridge-like in that chapter. (Man I hated her.)  
  
Kept my promise! It's up on time! See? See?  
  
Seymour Glass: Welcome to the story! Glad you're enjoying it. I've been working hard to use JK's tone, right down to the adverbs. You think Lupin might be in danger? Come now—after all that' happened to the poor man, would I be so evil as to torture him further??! ...yes, I think I probably would.  
  
Prongs4: Thank you! I wouldn't stop writing now! (That would be too cruel.)  
  
Lord of Darkness13: Well, now you know they're back—but as to what they were doing...  
  
Hedwig02135: Thank you, and welcome!  
  
Godrick Gal: Oh, tell me about it. Ever since Goblet of Fire, I've been hoping that Hermione would just grab Ron, shake him, and say "WHEN WILL YOU NOTICE THAT WE ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER?!" *That* probably won't happen, but I am enjoying playing them like pawns... As bad as waiting for the 6th book? Surely not as bad as that! Wow, that's pressure. 


	19. Possessing Voldemort

Author's Note: I'm really excited about this chapter. I'm sure you'll enjoy it.  
  
I've added a second story, slated for irregular updates as fancy strikes. It's much more drama/tragedy oriented, and I've made no attempt to mimic JKR's style. If you want to read The Many Deaths of Harry Potter, navigate yourself around to  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/reviews.php?storyid=1836046  
  
My favorite is "Adventure Park," although I don't know why.  
  
All the best,  
  
Neoepiphany********  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Nineteen  
  
Possessing Voldemort  
  
Ron and Hermione were unusually cold to one another over the next few days. Whatever they'd said in the course of their whispered argument must have been really hurtful, Harry thought. It was hard to return his attention to Snape's absence and the rumors of strange events around Hogwarts when he was spending all his time trying to prevent open hostilities from breaking out between his two best friends. At any rate, there was nothing new happening around Hogwarts. Despite the reporters' presence on the Hogwarts grounds that afternoon, nothing appeared in the Prophet beyond the usual rumors, speculations, and updates on Death Eater hunts.  
  
By Sunday morning, Harry was getting fed up. He and Ron were sitting together at breakfast, but Hermione was three seats away, eating alone with "Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes" propped up on her lap. Ron was making a point of sitting with his back to her.  
  
Harry sat down his orange juice. "Look, Ron. Couldn't you go talk to her? Tell her you're sorry?"  
  
Ron looked at Harry in shock. "I didn't start this, you know. I didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"Tell her you don't want to fight, then," Harry conceded.  
  
"No. She's the one that ought to apologize," Ron glared.  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
They had quidditch practice that morning, but it was bitterly cold and raining again, so Harry, thinking longingly of dry robes and a cup of cocoa by the fire, cut it short and sent everyone away. Ron went on ahead, promising to wait for Harry for lunch. Harry was just packing the practice balls back into the cupboard when he heard a little cough behind him.  
  
"Oh, hello," he said, turning. "What are you still doing here Eva?"  
  
She looked a bit like a drowned animal. Her dark, wet hair stuck to her face. "I wanted to ask you something," she said, sheepishly.  
  
"If it's about the Ravenclaw match, you're a bit early," Harry joked lamely, stalling for time. He thought he knew what she wanted to ask.  
  
"No," she said, smiling. "No, I wanted to ask you about Ron. You're his best friend, right?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, turning back around to push the bludger box into the back of the cabinet.  
  
"Well, he's not—er, I mean, he and Hermione Granger aren't—er, dating, are they?"  
  
"Dating?" Harry mumbled. "Er—no. Not really, no."  
  
"Oh, good," Eva said. "So, if I asked Ron to come into Hogsmeade with me next weekend, that would be okay?"  
  
"Er," Harry said. He felt an unpleasant warmth creeping up his neck. "I—er, I guess so."  
  
"D'you—do you think he'll say yes?"  
  
Harry busied himself rearranging quaffles so that he didn't have to look at Eva. "I don't know," Harry said honestly. "He might."  
  
"Oh," Eva said. "Okay. Well. Thanks, Harry. See you at lunch, then?"  
  
"Sure, see you," Harry said. He kept rearranging quaffles until he had heard the door open and close. He counted to ten, and then, when he was sure the coast was clear, he headed back to the castle.  
  
"What kept you?" Ron demanded. "I'm starving!"  
  
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Let's go."  
  
They walked down to the Great Hall with Seamus, Dean, Ginny and Neville, and took seats. Harry spotted Hermione sitting toward the end of the table by herself, the ponderous book once again propped on her lap.  
  
"I'm going to go ask Hermione to join us," said Ginny standing.  
  
"Don't," Ron said.  
  
"She can't eat another meal by herself," Ginny insisted.  
  
"She's not by herself, she has that book. She's fine. Sit down, Ginny."  
  
Harry busied himself with tying his shoelace. Ginny scowled at her brother. "You're my brother, not my boss. If you don't want to eat with her, fine. But she's still my friend," she snapped, and, taking her plate, went and sat down across from Hermione. Dean followed her, and Seamus followed him.  
  
"Hermione's been really mopey," Neville said. "Whatever you two fought about, Ron, it must've been serious."  
  
Ron didn't say anything.  
  
Just before the end of the meal, Eva Gregory sat down beside Ron. "Hello, Harry, Neville, Ron," she said smiling. Harry pretended to notice another untied shoelace and ducked under the table. He didn't want Ron to see the expression on his face. "Ron—can I, er, talk to you for a minute?" she asked.  
  
"Oh," Ron said, surprised. "Okay." They walked to the end of the table, right past Hermione, and stood talking next to the wall.  
  
"What's that about?" Neville asked, watching them.  
  
"No idea," Harry said. He refused to let anyone know anything about the conversation he'd had with Eva. He watched them out of the corner of his eye. They talked for a minute, and then Eva walked out of the hall. Harry couldn't see her face. Hermione, however, looked thoughtfully at Ron as he walked back past her.  
  
"What was that about?" a grinning Neville asked Ron as he sat down.  
  
"Nothing," Ron said gruffly.  
  
"What do you mean, nothing?" Neville asked. "It looked like she was going to ask you out. Everyone knows she fancies you. I heard those two third year friends of hers saying—"  
  
"It was nothing, Neville," Ron said, pushing his fork at a pile of peas. He gave it an irritable look and pushed his plate away. "Come on, Harry," he said, looking up, "let's get—" Ron's face froze in an expression of surprise that quickly turned into one of wooden defiance. Harry turned. Hermione was standing beside him. He hadn't seen her approach.  
  
"Hello," she said, quietly.  
  
"Hello," said Harry and Neville.  
  
"What do you want?" said Ron.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat. "I heard you talking to Eva."  
  
"You were listening to us?" Ron demanded, his cheeks flushing pink.  
  
"I couldn't help it," Hermione said quickly. "You weren't even ten feet away." She looked at her feet. "I just wanted to say—" she swallowed. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry I yelled at you the other day, Ron."  
  
"Oh," Ron said. He looked for a moment like he might say something angry, but then his face softened. "It's okay," he said at last. Hermione smiled. Ron looked away. "Come and sit down, if you like," he said.  
  
"Thanks," she said, sitting beside him. "Actually, I wanted to show you something. All of you," she added.  
  
"What?" Harry asked.  
  
"This morning's Prophet. You'd already gone when it was delivered, and I didn't get another chance to show you what with you having practice all morning, and—er—everything."  
  
"What is it?" Ron asked.  
  
"Have a look," she said, pulling the paper out of her robes and pushing it toward them. "Third page." Ron pushed his plate away, and smoothed out the paper. Harry and Neville leaned in to read.  
  
"Dark Conspiracy at Hogwarts?  
  
Hogwarts Teacher's Disappearance may be linked to You-Know-Who  
  
The curious events that began in the wizarding village of Hogsmeade last October show no sign of abating as more mysteries are unearthed daily, writes Special Investigator Miles Toler. The most recent puzzle centers around the sudden disappearance of Hogwarts Professor, Severus Snape. Rumors of the Dark Mark's appearance over the countryside near Hogsmeade began to circulate last Wednesday, and unusual activity amongst aurors was noted beginning on Thursday. Now, the Daily Prophet may report that these events are, in fact, linked to the mysterious disappearance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Potions Master, Professor Snape.  
  
Snape, who was accused and acquitted of being involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named 15 years ago, has disappeared from the Hogwarts premises, and has not been seen publicly for several days. An inside source at Hogwarts reports that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has tapped Sir Marcus Garlick, author of bestselling book, "Put a Cork in it!: How to Brew your way to a Better Life," to fill the post of Potions Master. Garlick reportedly told students he would hold the post for "some time", however, no explanation was given for Snape's absence. Headmaster Dumbledore refused comment.  
  
Snape's disappearance is likely closely linked to the events of last Wednesday, when he apparently disappeared. According to an anonymous auror, the Ministry of Magic received a tip that the Dark Mark had been spotted in the countryside near Hogsmeade. However, when aurors arrived on the scene, they found several Hogwarts teachers already in the vicinity, including Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. They gave no explanation for their presence. Several Hogwarts students confirmed that lessons Wednesday afternoon were cancelled, and went on to say that Snape had not been seen all that day. 'Everyone's really upset,' noted one Hogwarts student. 'Professor Snape is one of the most popular teachers.'  
  
Aurors reported some signs of struggle in the vicinity of the Dark Mark, including patches of scorched grass and a piece of torn black fabric. Although the Ministry of Magic denies the connection between Snape and the appearance of the Dark Mark, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement launched a major search for the Potions Master on Friday morning. One can only wonder why, if the events are connected, both Hogwarts School and the Ministry of Magic have chosen to cover the events in a conspiracy of silence."  
  
Ron leaned back. "So. The teachers were looking for Snape?" he said.  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. But it definitely looks that way."  
  
"Do you think You-Know-Who killed Snape?" Neville said, looking startled.  
  
They sat in silence, staring at the paper. "I don't know," Harry said at last.  
  
"Hey, why do you all look so serious? Didn't you just make up?" Ginny said, dropping onto the bench by Neville.  
  
"Oh," said Ron, "yeah."  
  
"Well, that's good, right?" she said.  
  
"Of course it is," said Hermione.  
  
Ginny looked at all of them. "Did something happen?" she asked.  
  
"No," said Harry quickly. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to talk to Ginny, especially since Neville had just overheard their conversation. He would make it up—they'd tell her everything later. After he'd done what he had to do. Ginny looked at his face, frowning.  
  
"Okay," she said, finally. "Well, Dean and I were going to practice some of those curses we did in the DA last week. Care to join us?"  
  
"Sure," said Neville.  
  
"No thanks," said Harry.  
  
"Suit yourself," said Ginny. "Ron? Hermione?"  
  
"No—eh, we'll stay here, thanks all the same, Ginny."  
  
Ginny and Neville left, and Ron and Hermione leaned in. "Okay," Ron said. "What do you think?"  
  
"I don't know if Snape's still alive or not, but I can find out," Harry said.  
  
"No," Hermione said. "No. I know what you're thinking, and you can't do it, Harry, you just can't. Don't you remember what Hagrid said? You could be hurt—you could go mad!"  
  
"I got in and out fine last time," Harry said. "He'll never even know I'm there."  
  
"You can't do it, Harry, you just can't," Hermione insisted. "If you possess Voldemort again—"  
  
"You can't stop me Hermione," he replied. "I'm going to do it. I'm going to find out the truth one way or another."  
  
Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with worry.  
  
"You can't, Harry, you just can't!"  
  
"I don't have a choice," he said. "I know what you almost said the other day. That if Snape was taken it was probably because of me."  
  
"I wasn't thinking, Harry—"  
  
"She didn't mean it like that!" Ron said quickly.  
  
Harry waved his hand. "But it was true. I can't have that on my conscience. I can't go the rest of my life knowing that he was taken because he helped me and I didn't do anything. I have to try. I have to try and find out."  
  
Harry glare at them for a moment, daring them to contradict him. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.  
  
"So," Ron said slowly, "what are you going to do, exactly?"  
  
"I'm going to take a nap," Harry said.  
  
  
  
Harry shut his eyes. His thoughts were swirling so fast that he didn't think he'd ever fall asleep. How could he? He felt restless and guilty. But he had to try.  
  
He never fell asleep. He knew that much. But suddenly, his thoughts seemed to solidify. In a way he couldn't exactly recall afterward, his mind centered on one point, and, suddenly, it was as if a dream had begun to play in his waking mind. It was very faint—blurred around the edges, as though seen from far away and without his glasses. The voices were thin and tinny. He concentrated harder, willing himself to focus in on that scene. It swam into sharp focus with a jolt.  
  
"—well hidden," said one of two men in front of him. They were clad in black robes, but their faces weren't hidden. Harry recognized Rudolphus Lestrange, but the man next to him, a young, fresh-faced boy in his late teens, was vaguely familiar. Harry though he might have seen him before—at Hogwarts, perhaps?  
  
"I trust this is the case," Harry said, in that now-familiar high, cold voice. "You would not disappoint me again, would you Rudolphus?"  
  
"No, My Lord," Rudolphus said, lowering his head.  
  
"And you, boy," Harry went on, raising a finger to the younger man. The boy bowed his head, but did not cower. "You will not fail me?"  
  
"Never, My Lord," the boy said. "Where others have failed, I will succeed."  
  
"See that you do. You may both go. Send in Bellatrix."  
  
"Of course, My Lord," Rudolphus said. The two men bowed as they backed out of the room.  
  
Harry turned. The room was similar to the one he'd seen before—all white, but grimy and old. He was sitting in a high-backed armchair draped in black velvet. A table perched in front of him held an assortment of odd objects—a wand with a spike near the end, a golden cup, and a small vial of black liquid. He picked up the vial, and turned it in his hands.  
  
The door at the end of the room opened, and a hooded figure entered. "My Lord," said a voice. Harry recognized it as Bellatrix.  
  
"This vial," Harry said quietly, "took us a month of planning and hard work to get, and a pair of disobedient servants made it useless."  
  
"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said.  
  
"Too many of our number have proven themselves incompetant. Too many have betrayed me."  
  
"Yes, My Lord." Her voice was full of loathing.  
  
"Rudolphus said that you're seeing to our guest personally," Harry said, setting the vial down.  
  
"I am, My Lord. I did not want you to be disappointed again."  
  
"Good. Your diligence will be rewarded," Harry said. "Be sure that he knows the price for betraying his Lord."  
  
"I will," Bellatrix said, an evil glint in her eye.  
  
"And Wormtail?"  
  
Bellatrix bowed her head. "There isn't much more I can do, My Lord, without making him useless. I will, of course, continue if you wish. However, I wished to consult with you, in case you wanted to use him in future."  
  
"He is weak. Twice he has failed me," Harry said, his hand gripping the side of his chair so hard that the wood below the padding creaked. "But—" He paused. "Perhaps he has learned a lesson in obedience. You were right to consult me, Bellatrix. Yes, I may have one last use for him."  
  
"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix bowed her head. "I will leave him, then, for the time being."  
  
"Yes," Harry said, standing. He turned to face a small, framed picture of an empty chair on the wall beside him. It was only about the size of Harry's hand, but done in tremendous detail. Harry thought he might have seen it before—the last time he was in this room?  
  
"Now I will check in on our informant. Snape's absence has caused a lot of activity among our… enemy. There is quite a lot to be learned."  
  
"Of course, My Lord. With your permission, I will go see about our guests."  
  
"Very well," Harry said, dismissively. He stared at the painting in silence. Harry felt his mind starting to pull away, but forced himself to focus. If he could see the spy…  
  
Abruptly, he was no longer in the dirty white room. He felt a sudden shock when he realized where he was. He was standing in the basement kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry couldn't tell if he had left Voldemort or not. He could no longer see Voldemort's pale skin or black robes around him, but he still vividly remembered once being in the mind of a snake. He was standing, he realized, in a dark corner beside the kitchen dresser. Was he in the mind of a figure hiding behind an invisibility cloak? Had his mind simply left Voldemort's?  
  
Suddenly, Mira stood up. She'd been kneeling on the floor behind the table, just out of his view. She dropped a few pieces of broken china into the sink. She looked exactly as she had in summer—still wearing that pink apron, her headphones dangling around her neck. She was wearing a blue sweater that was easily three or four sizes to big for her and hung nearly to her knees.  
  
The door swung open. "Mira?" said Lupin, stepping into the kitchen. "What happened? I heard a crash." Lupin, unlike Mira, looked decidedly different than he had during the summer. His face was still lined, his hair still graying, but he looked a lot younger than he had before. He seemed healthier than Harry had ever seen him. Maybe it's having a place to stay and plenty to eat, Harry thought. Or maybe it was his robes—they were still rather old, but now they were very clean, and had been expertly mended, so they looked fresher and newer.  
  
"It's nothing, Remus," Mira said. "I was washing dishes, and I dropped a plate. I'll buy a few new ones when I do the shopping tomorrow." She dropped back down to the floor. She stood again, dropping a few more pieces of shattered porcelain into the sink. "Oh!" she yelped, sticking her finger in her mouth.  
  
"You cut yourself," Lupin said. He grabbed a box from the counter, and pulled out a small bandage. "We're running out of bandages."  
  
"I'll get some of those too," she said. She held out her hand. He gently unwrapped the bandage, and wrapped it around her finger. She smiled at him. He smiled back. There was a long pause.  
  
Mira looked down. "Er," she said, turning back toward the sink. Lupin sat down. "Did you just get back?"  
  
"Yes," Lupin said, putting his head in his hands. "But I should still be out there. Dumbledore sent me back. It was just full moon a few days ago, after all."  
  
"Still no sign of him, then?" Mira said.  
  
"None," Lupin sighed.  
  
Mira frowned. "Are you hungry? I made some chicken spaghetti—"  
  
"No," Lupin said. "I ate something a few hours ago."  
  
"Oh," Mira said. She looked at Lupin's back for a moment, then crossed around the table, and sat down across from him. She reached out and put her hand on top of his. He looked up. "Remus," she said quietly. "You'll find him. I'm sure you will."  
  
"He's running out of time, Mira. And I can't help but feel a bit responsible. If I hadn't let him come along to Harry's—"  
  
"You couldn't have stopped him, Remus," she murmured. "You can't tell a strong will what to do."  
  
"I could have tried harder," Lupin said quietly. Harry got the impression that they weren't talking about Snape anymore.  
  
"You did the best you could, Remus," she said. She reached out and put her other hand on his. Lupin rested his other hand on top of hers. "He wouldn't want you to blame yourself like this."  
  
Lupin was silent. Then he sighed again. "I suppose," he said. "You're right. We'll find Snape. We have all our best witches and wizards searching for him, on top of the Ministry's people." He absently patted Mira's hand again. "How about a cup of tea?" he said quietly. Harry was aware of a strange feeling, very far away. Something distant and persistent. He tried to ignore it.  
  
"Of course," Mira smiled, pulling her hands away. She stood up.  
  
"No, I'll make it," Lupin said, standing as well. He smiled at Mira again.   
  
The far away feeling was becoming more insistent. Harry felt the scene in Grimmauld place slipping away. He tried to hang onto it, but it was like trying to hold water in his fist. He was jerked away. He felt his mind floating through space, fast, fast, faster…  
  
With a jolt, he crashed back into his own body. He felt terribly cold. Somebody was holding him up shaking him hard.  
  
"Wake up! Harry! Wake up!"  
  
"I'm awake!" Harry shouted, and, felt the fists release his shirt. He crashed back onto the bed, shivering. Waking up had felt like being plunged naked into icy water after a warm bath. Every inch of his body felt cold and painful. He grabbed for his glasses, which someone handed to him. He pushed them onto his nose, his hands feeling unusually clumsy. Ron and Neville were standing beside his bed, both looking pale.  
  
"I thought— I thought you were—" Neville said, swallowing hard.  
  
"You thought I was what?" Harry said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.  
  
"Neville came up here, and you were lying there—white," Ron said, his voice strangely choked.  
  
"I was having a nap," Harry lied, in irritation. If they hadn't jerked him away, he might've found out something more useful.  
  
"You weren't breathing," Neville said. "You weren't breathing, Harry."  
  
"What?" Harry said, shaken. "Of course I was breathing."  
  
"No, you weren't," Ron said. "And he couldn't find a pulse either. Neither could I."  
  
"I wasn't dead," Harry snapped.  
  
"But you looked like it," Neville said.  
  
Harry shivered, clutching his blanket around him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired in his life. All he wanted to do was sleep. A gnawing in his stomach contradicted that thought. All he wanted to do was eat himself sick, and then sleep. "I'm fine," he said dumbly.  
  
Ron looked at Harry for a long moment. "Okay," he said, at last. "We'll leave you to get cleaned up then. Dinner's nearly over. You'll want to hurry."  
  
"But—" Neville sputtered, looking at Ron in amazement.  
  
"I'm fine, Neville," Harry repeated. "Wait for me in the common room. I'll be down in a minute."  
  
Ron nodded. He pulled Neville, who still looked a bit flabbergasted, out of the room. He ducked his head back in. "Hurry, Harry. Hermione's having kittens down there."  
  
******************  
  
Reviewer Responses  
  
  
  
Balinor: First off, let me say that I am filled with flattered appreciation that you took the time to comment on nearly every chapter, and provide such detailed feedback and criticism. You have my thanks! Now, to respond to some of your comments...  
  
Thanks for calling me "truly an author!" It's been my lifelong ambition, and I have a novel in the works now, which will hopefully get finished/published before I start work on my PhD. ^_^ That made my day, mate.  
  
You're right, Mira and Molly don't get along. You really think Mira came off a bit Mary Sue-ish? I was trying to write it like they were looking for an excuse to make up and Mira's bungled attempt gave them something to laugh at together (namely, Mira). I'll definitely work on improving that chapter in re-writes. (If I were to ever write myself into a fic, it would undoubtedly be an AU one in which I could prevent Sirius from going to Azkaban, and the two of us would raise little Harry safely away from the muggles. This will never be written, but it's nice to think about.)  
  
I think the reason the dream thing comes up so much is because it's used so heavily in the books. At least, that's why I reverted to it. Ever since Book 1, Harry's nightmares have been particularly informative, haven't they? I considered giving him another source of information—Sirius's mirror came to mind—but the dreams just felt more canon. Besides, Harry's having more than simple dreams here. He's having out-of-body experiences.  
  
I know what you mean about the quidditch games. Personally, I'm just sick of always knowing that Gryffindor will win when we go into the game.  
  
Ah yes. I wondered if anyone would ever notice all the food references. I can't help but obsess over the food in the story. I'm hungry, you see. I live in Japan, and I hate Japanese food. I was raised on spicy, gooey, stick to the ribs goodness and suddenly all I'm getting are tiny, bite sized bits of fish with a sprig of parsley and dry white rice. So I'm seeing to it that my characters are well fed, with lots of junkfood, meatloaf, casseroles, etc. I can't help it. I advise that you never read on an empty stomach!  
  
Good lord, I would never do something so cliched as the old "locked in a classroom" schtick. No, I expect Ron and Hermione's romance to progress the way real teenage romances do—slowly and painfully. ;) While I don't know that I would ever write a more romantically-inclined fanfic, I can promise you there is more romance on the horizon of this one.  
  
Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!  
  
  
  
Bigstu: Ah, the Ron-Hermione complex. My story is addictive? Hoorah! The power I wield...  
  
Sillyseal: Thanks! I will keep writing. Promise!  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: So, now we kind of know what happened with the staff. (Full disclosure next week!)  
  
As for an evil Snape, well, read the story I put the link to up above. Not only is it wall-to-wall Harry torture, which I believe you like, one of the chapters is titled "Snape." There you go.  
  
Giant's tears. Another thing that will be integral if I ever write the sequal to this story, and therefore is introduced now.  
  
You actually knew someone called Mark Garlic?! Wow. Actually, I picked the name Garlick in a tribute to another book series I love. Handsome prize to the first person to guess what series/character.  
  
Kraeg001: Thank you kindly! 


	20. The Memoirs of Jacques de Malaise

Author's Note:  
  
As promised, a double update this week! Enjoy.  
Also, Seymour Glass wins the prize I promised last week. Marcus Garlick's name was, in fact, a tribute to Magrat Garlick of the Discworld books. (Although he has a much more Ridcully personality, if that makes any sense to you!) Congrats, Seymour.  
This chapter is dedicated to Michelle. Congrats on finishing your finals! Hooray for summer!  
Enjoy,  
Neoepiphany

  
  
Chapter Twenty  
The Memoirs of Jacques de Malaise  
  
"Harry!" Hermione squealed as she threw her arms around him. "You're okay!"  
  
"Of course I am," Harry said. He still felt cold, and his hands and legs felt unusually clumsy. He didn't know what had happened exactly, but he didn't want to do it again. Not right away, anyway. "Let's go eat. I'm famished."  
  
Hermione walked beside him, holding his elbow as if to support him. "You're white as a ghost," she whispered, as they walked down the corridor. "Neville came down shouting for help—I was scared to death. I tried to come up, but Ron wouldn't let me up the stairs."  
  
"Ron said Neville thought I was dead," Harry said. "I was fine, though."  
  
"You weren't," Ron said. "You looked dead. Really dead."  
  
"You're shivering," Hermione said accusingly.  
  
"I'll warm up in a minute. It was chilly in the dorm."  
  
Hermione frowned. "Did you find anything out?"  
  
Harry nodded gravely.  
  
"We should go straight to Dumbledore," Hermione said briskly.  
  
"We can't do that," Ron said. "He'll want to know how Harry found out."  
  
Harry privately agreed. He wasn't eager to hear what Dumbledore—or McGonagall—would say if they found out he had broken his promise not to try possessing Voldemort again. "Where's Neville?" Harry asked.  
  
"He went on ahead," Ron said. "I think he was a bit irritated, actually."  
  
They walked into the Great Hall and took seats toward the very end of Gryffindor table. Neville, sitting about halfway down the table, surrounded by the quidditch team, gave them an appraising look, but said nothing. He silently went back to eating his meat pie.   
  
Harry piled his plate as high as he could and began eating. He felt even hungrier than he felt tired, if that were possible.  
  
"Are you going to tell us—" Ron began.  
  
"Not here," Harry said. "After dinner."  
  
They ate quickly (which was quite a feat for Harry, who took second and thirds of everything) and headed back to Gryffindor tower. They pulled a few chairs into a dark and cool corner of the common room, and settled down. Harry felt pleasantly full and very, very tired. He wanted nothing so much as to go back to bed and get some proper sleep, but he knew Ron and Hermione would never let him go until he'd told them what he'd seen. He motioned for them to lean forward, and told them about everything he'd overheard in the dingy white room.  
  
"I'm sure the 'guest' was Snape," Harry finished. "And it sounds like he's alive—for now."  
  
"Poor Snape," Hermione said from behind her fist, which she had clutched to her mouth.  
  
Harry nodded. "I don't think it was very helpful, though," he said. "I mean what did we find out, really? I have no more idea of where Snape is than I had before."  
  
"We know he's alive," Hermione said.  
  
"Still not much help," Ron said. "Was there anything else?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said, leaning in and dropping his voice even lower. "Voldemort sent Bellatrix Lestrange away because he wanted to check in on the spy in the Order. The next thing I knew I was in Grimmauld Place."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened.  
  
"Did you see who it was?" Ron asked.  
  
"At first I thought the room was empty," Harry whispered. "But it wasn't. Mira was there. And Lupin came in a second later."  
  
"Mira," Ron said, a gleam in his eye.  
  
"What happened exactly?" Hermione whispered. Harry told them what he'd seen.  
  
Hermione frowned. "So you think that when Voldemort wanted to look in on the spy, he was looking in on Mira?"  
  
Harry nodded. "I'm sure of it. She was the only one in the room."  
  
"But you weren't looking out from her mind, right? So Voldemort wasn't possessing her?"  
  
"If there was somebody else in that room, surely either Mira or Lupin would have noticed," Ron said.  
  
"Not necessarily," Hermione said.  
  
"Why are you defending her, Hermione?" Ron asked.  
  
"I'm not defending anyone," Hermione said indignantly. "It's just not exactly proof, is it?"  
  
"McGonagall seemed awfully eager to convince me that it couldn't possibly be Mira," Harry said, remembering the conversation he'd had with McGonagall at their very first lesson together. "I don't know what's going on. It's like she has them in some kind of… I don't know, under some kind of trance."  
  
"The way thay all just believed her, right off the bat. No one knows her, but everyone trusts her?" Ron shook his head. "There's something funny going on there, and if it's not magical, then I'll eat Pig."  
  
Hermione nodded. "I agree. She's not a squib, whatever she says. But that doesn't necessarily mean she's the spy, does it?"  
  
"What we need," Ron said, "is something that backs up what you said, Harry. Some kind of proof."  
  
"If we could get into Grimmauld Place, we could look through her room," Hermione said, thoughtfully.  
  
"Look through her room?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that kind of personal?"  
  
"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said. "It's in a good cause."  
  
"But we can't get there, so it doesn't do us much good right now, though, does it?" Harry said. "And I didn't do anything to find Snape. I need to try again."  
  
"No!" Hermione and Ron both shouted at once. A couple of first years sitting behind them yelped. Everyone in the common room turned to look at them.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Ron snapped at the crowd. They turned back to their own conversations with a lot of whispering and giggles.  
  
"What?" Harry whispered.  
  
"No offense, Harry," Ron said, "but I don't think you can do another one."  
  
"It's too dangerous," Hermione agreed. "You're white as a sheet as it is."  
  
"I think I stayed away too long, that's all," Harry said. "It's no big deal."  
  
"It is a big deal," Hermione insisted. "Harry—if you try it again, I think you might—you might—" The sentence went unfinished, but Harry knew what she meant by the way her lip trembled.  
  
"Okay," he said quickly. "I didn't mean right now anyway."  
  
"We'll just have to think of another way to help, that's all," Hermione said, relieved.  
  
But over the next few days, they found precious little time to devote to Snape or the mysterious spy. Professor Garlick might be a much nicer Potions Master, but he assigned even more homework, and they spent almost every night pouring over books in the library, researching rare herbs and fungi. Add to that Charms, Herbology, and McGonagall's increased homework as she tried to give them a solid grounding in the theory of human transfiguration before they started practicing on each other, and the three of them barely had time for sleep. At least they didn't have to worry much about Care of Magical Creatures; there were more than enough people to help out with the demiguise.  
  
One snowy afternoon, the three of them sat in a corner of the library, the table around them spread with books. Harry and Ron were working on their latest essay ("The Correct Use of Carniverous Mushroom Spores in Potionmaking"), while Hermione, who had already finished her essay, flipped through "Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes."  
  
"Did you say anything about biting toadstools?" Ron asked, raking a hand through his hair. "I can't decide if they're carniverous or not."  
  
"Er," Harry said, "I was about to ask you the same thing."  
  
"Hermione," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. But Hermione's seat was empty. "Where'd she go?" Ron asked, looking around.  
  
"I don't see her," Harry said. "But she'll be back. She's left her bag."  
  
They went back to their essays. "I've got nearly seven inches just on horklumps," Ron said. "Do you think that's too much?"  
  
"How'd you get seven inches on horklumps? I barely got four!" Harry said, peering over at Ron's parchment.  
  
"You can copy if you like," Ron said, pushing his essay across the debris of open books scattered across the table.  
  
It was almost fifteen minutes before Hermione actually returned, clutching a small, blood-red volume. The words "The Life of de Malaise" were picked out on the front in shiny black letters.  
  
"Where'd you go?" Harry asked.  
  
"There was a reference to this book in 'Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes,'" she explained, "so I went and looked it up."  
  
"Hermione," Ron said, leaning his chair on its back two legs and giving her a look of disgust, "it's not even your homework."  
  
"It's fascinating," Hermione said, flipping through the small volume.  
  
Ron looked at her as though she were a particularly gruesome insect in a cage. He held his potions book in one hand as he teetered on the back legs of his chair. "This isn't half boring," he said. "And we've still got McGonagall's essay after this. We'll never get done at this rate. If only someone would let us have a look at hers," he said pointedly, "we might actually get some sleep tonight—"  
  
Hermione's loud yelp startled them both. Ron's chair crashed onto the floor with a loud clatter. "Ow!" he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I was only joking, Hermione!" Madame Pince's disapproving hush made Ron flinch.  
  
"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" Hermione said. She was staring down at the little book with wide eyes.  
  
"What?" said Ron and Harry together.  
  
"You won't believe this—" Hermione said, staring down at the book, her eyes round as galleons.  
  
"Believe what?" Ron snapped.  
  
"Harry," Hermione murmured. "I think I know how the Death Eaters got into your Aunt and Uncle's house this summer!"  
  
"What?" said Harry, jumping out of his chair. He darted around the table and stood beside Hermione.  
  
"Look at this," she said, pushing the smaller book aside. "I was reading the section in 'Charmes, Spelles, and Enchantmentes' about protective blood charms, and I found this note here." She pointed to a paragraph at the bottom of the page.  
  
"'The duration and strength of most protective charms can be extended by contact with the caster,'" it read. "'However, in circumstances when the caster is unavailable, contact with that person's blood-relatives can be equally beneficial. While most wizards agree such protection is nigh impossible to overcome—depending, of course, on the strength of the initial spell—the 15th century Auror, Jacques de Malaise, described the curious case of the dark wizard Bradfelt Pennyworth in his memoirs. According to de Malaise, Pennyworth claimed to have learned the secret of overcoming the charm in very particular circumstances. To date, no wizard has succeeded in duplicating Pennyworth's counter-charm, and most believe the story to be a fabrication.'"  
  
"Now look at this," Hermione said, passing across the little book. A woodcut illustration on the left showed a sinister looking wizard in a jerkin and tights leaning over crying woman and holding a small bottle. She pointed to a passage on the opposite page.  
  
"'I spente many a day questioning the blackguard, yet he spoke not a word, not even in his owne defense. On the third day, I fed him a draught of potion, which loosed his lips right well. The dog Pennyworth did confess to me that he did murder Apollonius Marthis by overcoming the Protective Charme in a moste curious way. Marthis was guarded by the spelle which his father had laid down upon him against Pennyworth, an' so long as Marthis stayed in the house of his father and sister, Pennyworth could not touch him there. Pennyworth did woo the daughter of Marthis' sister, the Lady Catherine the Gray. He did poisone her heart against her uncle, an' proposed to marry her when her uncle did leave the family home. An' Lady Catherine did agree to help Pennyworth to be rid of Marthis that they might wed.  
  
'On the night of the new moon, he did say a spell and ask Lady Catherine to cut her hand and he did collecte the drops of purple blood in a glass vial. Wearing the vial over his heart, he did enter the house. Pennyworth said that so long as he carried the blood of Marthis' father near his heart, he could enter therein. But the charme could not be long fooled by the blood of the third generation, and Pennyworth had but moments to find and kill Marthis. The Lady Catherine did realize that she had been tricked, and did leave the home and ne'er return, but too late, for her uncle was dead.'"  
  
Harry pushed the book away. He was no clearer on how the death eaters might have gotten into his house than before. "Wait," he said. "What does that mean? How could the death eaters have gotten into Privet Drive?"  
  
Hermione tapped the woodcut of the man in the jerkin. "This man—Pennyworth—overcame a protective charm just the like one over you, Harry!" she said, breathlessly. "Look—Marthis's father had done something to protect him, and as long as he was in his father's house with his sister, he was safe, right?"  
  
"Like me at Privet Drive," Harry nodded. "Because Aunt Petunia's there."  
  
"Right. But he got past it by using some spell and wearing a glass vial of Marthis's niece's blood over his heart," she went on, "because the niece shared a bit of the father's blood too! She carried the charm."  
  
"I don't follow you, Hermione," Ron said, squinting at the book.  
  
"Harry," Hermione said eagerly, "was your cousin at home when the Death Eaters attacked?"  
  
"No," Harry said, realization dawning. "No, he snuck out a little before. You think the Death Eaters convinced him to go along with the spell? No way—it would never work. Dudley hates magic—he especially hates wizards. He never would have gone along with it."  
  
"And the other book said the de Whatsit fellow made the whole story up, anyway," Ron pointed out.  
  
Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "It said no one else had been able to do it. I bet that spell that he said before Lady Catherine cut herself is the critical part, but de Malaise didn't write that part down, so nobody knows what it is. What if," she said, her eyes alight, "what if the Death Eaters found out what the spell was? And what if they went to Dudley and told him a way he could be rid of you once and for all, Harry? They didn't have to tell him they were wizards at first—I expect he would have been happy enough if they just gave him sweets."  
  
Harry stared at the illustration in the book. There was a sudden swirling sensation in his stomach. The glass vial in the hands of the dark wizard looked horribly familiar. He had seen something just like it very recently. "I think we should go to Dumbledore, right now," he said quietly.  
  
"Harry—"  
  
"Right now!"  
  
Hermione grabbed the book, and they ran out of the library, leaving their bags and other books scattered around the table. A crowd of first-year Hufflepuffs was just coming into the library, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were moving too fast to slow down. "Excuse me," Ron said as they cut right through the middle of the group. The Hufflepuffs jumped out of the way, some of the girls shrieking. "Oh, really now!" Madame Pince shouted after them.  
  
They rounded a bend in the corridor. "This way!" Harry said, hurrying up a staircase.  
  
He saw Professor McGonagall before he ran into her, and stopped dead. Unfortunately, Ron, running behind him, crashed into him, knocking Harry forward. A stack of books spilled out of McGonagall's hands and cascaded noisily down the staircase. Hermione ground to a halt beside them, her face red, and tried to hide the book behind her back.  
  
"Potter! Weasley!" McGonagall said. Her eyebrows crept closer together. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"We were going to see Professor Dumbledore, Professor," Harry explained, breathless.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall said. "Whatever for?"  
  
"We think," Harry said quickly, "that we may know how the Death Eaters got into my Aunt and Uncle's house this summer!"  
  
"What?" McGonagall said. "What on earth—"  
  
"Here, Professor," Hermione said, holding out the book, open to the woodcut. "I found this. We think the Death Eaters may have used the same spell as the dark wizard in this story."  
  
McGonagall's eyes flipped over the page briefly. She took the book, looked at the front cover, and handed it back to Hermione. "The de Malaise story. Of course, we've already considered that," she said. Her voice was a bit softer, though. She flicked her wand so that the stack of books floated into a neat pile and hovered near her side. "I'm afraid there's no doubt that de Malaise made it all up. He was a third-rate auror, with only a few captured dark wizards to his credit. He wrote his memoirs in order to advance his reputation—there's very little in the book that isn't either an exaggeration or an outright lie."  
  
"But Professor," Hermione insisted, "if the Death Eaters found out what spell Pennyworth said when he collected the blood—"  
  
"I doubt very much that the blood was ever collected. It's widely believed that he convinced the poor man's niece to kill him through a combination of magic and trickery. The poor girl snapped out of it a moment too late. She died a few months later—some say it was a combination of guilt and grief that killed her, you know," McGonagall said thoughtfully. Her eyes flicked down the corridor for a moment before resting on the trio again.  
  
"Professor," Harry said desperately, "we really need to talk to Dumbledore. There's something else."  
  
"What else, Potter?" McGonagall said sharply.  
  
Harry looked nervously at Ron. "I—I had another—er, vision," he said.  
  
McGonagall's books fell to the floor again. "What? When?"  
  
"Sunday," Harry said.  
  
"Why didn't you come forward with this right away?" she demanded.  
  
"It wasn't anything new, Professor," Harry cringed. "And, er, I thought—" McGonagall's stern look made his stomach flutter. "I thought—er—"  
  
McGonagall frowned. "Come along then, you three. We're going to the Headmaster straight away." She turned on her heel and trudged down the hallway.  


---------------------------------  
Reviewer Responses:  
  
(In reverse order!)  
  
Seymour Glass: That's right! Congratulations. You win a fanart done to your specifications.  
  
Wynjara: Yes, I'm evil like that. Dangling information right in front of you, only to snatch it away. Mwahahaha!  
  
Prongs4: Thanks, I will.  
  
Diana: I'm THRILLED to know I have a reader in Mexico! I love Mexico! Beautiful country, cool people, excellent food... I'm from Texas, so we're kind of neighbors in a way. Yeah!!! Welcome to the story. I'm very pleased you like it, and I hope you keep reading! Your review made my day.  
  
Duj: (from Ch. 12) They were just being silly about the fudge bars, and Hermione knew it. I thought that was funny, actually. It's what I would've done with dodgy fudge bars, too.  
  
Incrediblysexi: Thanks, mate.  
  
Aschowin: Thanks! Welcome to the story!  
  
Wiccan PussyKat: After this story ends, I'm thinking about writing a prequel that explains some things that happened elsewhere. Maybe if I do, I'll tell everyone what Ron said to Eva.  
  
When I wrote the transporting scene, I was positive that I'd given too big of a hint as to the identity of the spy. Fortunately, no one seems to have really caught it. Good. I'd rather it be one of those things that gets you in retrospect. (I'll say nothing more on the matter.)  
  
There might be more possessing later. And there might be some more lasting effects... mwahaha.  
  
No promises about Snape. Sorry.  
  
Kraeg001: Thank you, I will. :)  
  
That's it lads and lasses! See you next chapter. 


	21. The Ghost's Tale

Chapter Twenty-One  
  
The Ghost's Tale  
  
"Wait here," McGonagall said, gesturing to the right of the gargoyle statue that marked the entrance to the headmaster's office. "I'll go up and tell the headmaster that you're coming. Pepper Imp." The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the ever-revolving staircase behind.  
  
They stood in the hallway amid an awkward silence. Something about their encounter with McGonagall had drained away a lot of their earlier enthusiasm.  
  
"Harry," Hermione hissed after a moment. "Did you just tell her about the vision so that we could come to Dumbledore, or did you see something that relates to—?"  
  
"I saw something," Harry muttered. He had seen Voldemort holding that little vial, hadn't he? He just hadn't understood what it was. He hadn't told the others about it before, because it had seemed so unimportant at the time. So trivial amid all the other things that had happened in his mind.  
  
The grinding of stone on stone announced McGonagall's return as the statue sprang aside, bowing slightly. McGonagall stepped off the spiral staircase, and said simply, "Come with me, please." They climbed aboard the stairs. Soon, they found themselves outside the door to Dumbledore's office. Harry heard the familiar buzz of conversation behind the door, and knew that Dumbledore was talking to the portraits of all the past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts School. Harry had had plenty of experience with the portraits over the last few years.  
  
McGonagall raised a hand to rap on the door, but there was no need. It swung open before them. Harry walked into the circular room first. Fawkes stood on his golden stand behind the door. His feathers fluffed cheerfully. Harry smiled at the beautiful red phoenix. The last time he had seen Fawkes, he had been a tiny, ugly baby after swallowing one of Voldemort's fatal curses. The room echoed with the clicking and whirring of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. With a tiny surge of guilt, Harry remembered how he had smashed several of them last spring. But he had been so very angry…  
  
"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said. He was seated behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Please be seated." He flicked his wand and an overstuffed purple sofa appeared in front of him. They sat down gingerly, and sunk into the cushions. Hermione's feet flailed momentarily while she tried to upright herself. McGonagall stood beside Professor Dumbledore like a sentry, her expression grave.  
  
"Professor McGonagall tells me that you have had another vision, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward.  
  
"Yes, professor," Harry said. He was afraid Dumbledore would ask why he hadn't gone to him sooner, like McGonagall had. He didn't want to say "Because I thought I would get in trouble." It was true, but it sounded so stupid.  
  
Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't waste time. "Please tell us everything you saw. Spare no detail, Harry."  
  
Harry looked sideways at Ron, who gave him the tiniest of encouraging nods. Harry swallowed, and launched into the tale. He described it even more carefully than he had when he had told Ron and Hermione about it. He relayed not only the words, but also the way he had felt at every moment of the vision. Dumbledore didn't interrupt him; he simply listened as Harry revealed everything.  
  
When Harry had finished, Dumbledore frowned. "The scene you saw at Grimmauld Place, Harry. You're sure there was no one in the room with you but Remus and Mira?"  
  
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. McGonagall's eyes widened as she looked at Dumbledore, who frowned. Dumbledore motioned for her to lean closer. He whispered to her for a moment. Harry watched McGonagall's face carefully as she listened to Dumbledore. Her eyebrows drew closer together, her lips thinned, and her eyes took on a steely look. After a long moment she nodded, straightened up, and left the room. Harry watched her leave—as she pushed through the door she began to tug on something around her neck.  
  
Dumbledore coughed politely, and the students' three heads turned back toward the claw-footed desk. "Before I ask you my questions," Dumbledore said, "is there anything you wish to ask me?"  
  
Harry nodded, startled. This was an unexpected opportunity. "What happened to Professor Snape?" he asked. Ron nodded beside him.  
  
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I rather suspected that would be your first question. Very well." He leaned forward, folding his hands over the soft purple blotter on his desk.  
  
"Bill Weasley tells me that you found out about the Network Charm," he said. "It didn't come as much of a surprise that you found out. Hagrid has been saying since last summer that it was only a matter of time before you uncovered that information." Dumbledore chuckled. "There was some discussion of explaining it to you when we implemented it. However, after a great deal of arguing, we decided against it."  
  
"Why?" Ron asked.  
  
"Your mother was most vocally against it, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, the trace of a laugh in his eye. "While I saw no harm, per se, in telling you about it, we did decide that it was best not to, at least initially. You see, we predicted that your ultimate reaction would be to try and obtain a piece of the enchanted jewelry yourselves."  
  
"What would be so bad about that?" Harry asked. "We're a part of this fight, too. Don't we deserve to be included?"  
  
"I'm afraid it would be counterproductive," Dumbledore said. "The Network Charm was one of my more clever ideas, but it isn't without its limits. For one thing, no message can be directed to a particular witch or wizard. What one person says, everyone hears. In the case of alarms, this has proved most useful. However, there are occasionally things said over the network that it would be best if you weren't subjected to."  
  
Dumbledore lifted the sleeve of his navy-blue robes, revealing a very thin silver chain around his wrist. He carefully undid the clasp, and laid the chain on his desk. "Anyone in danger, or wishing to give a report on their activities need only touch the silver—or gold, in the case of Remus Lupin—and everyone hears. Unfortunately, there are sometimes messages we cannot respond to." Lines had appeared around his eyes. He looked sad, as though he were recalling sad memories. "More than once, pleas for help have been sent out over the network, yet there was nothing we could do. It is a terrible thing, hearing someone call out for help, and yet being unable to act." Dumbledore shook his head. "It is a responsibility that the Order has accepted. But I cannot lay this burden on you yet. Do you understand?"  
  
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. He still thought he deserved to be included in the Network, but there were more pressing matters at the moment.  
  
"Very well. Last Wednesday morning, a message went out over the Network," Dumbledore said. "Unfortunately, we aren't sure where the message originated—whether it was somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds, or somewhere nearby. All we know is who it originated with. Severus Snape."  
  
"What did the message say, Professor?" Hermione asked.  
  
Dumbledore stood, and walked to the window near his desk. He gazed out at the twinkling stars and the shining snow for a moment. When he spoke, he did so without turning around. "He said, 'They've come for me.' After that, there was only silence."  
  
Hermione gasped. Ron elbowed her in the side, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.  
  
Dumbledore didn't turn. "Immediately, several of our number attempted to apparate to his location, but they were unsuccessful. A few moments later, Elphias Doge reported that the Dark Mark had been sighted in the country side near Hogsmeade. Once again, several members of the Order tried to locate Severus, but found themselves in an apparently empty field. They quickly combed the scene."  
  
Dumbledore paused. He hadn't moved since he stood up and faced the window. "All they found, I'm afraid, was a silver earring lying in the mud near a few scorch marks."  
  
Hermione clamped her other hand over her mouth. Dumbledore turned again. He looked tired. "I'm afraid we don't know exactly what happened, and all attempts to find Severus have so far been unsuccessful. My own theory is that Severus somehow discovered that Voldemort was coming after him, and apparated away from Hogwarts in an effort to protect the students. Before he was captured, he must have thrown away the earring. If a single piece of Network jewelry fell into the hands of Death Eaters, everyone wearing it would be at risk," he explained.  
  
"Since then, we have all been devoting as much time as we can to searching for Severus. Why Voldemort decided to come after him now, of all times, is uncertain, but it may have to do with the informant among us." A shadow flicked across Dumbledore's face as he said this, but it was gone again in an instant. "I must ask you three not to share this information with other students. We don't want to cause alarm. They are perfectly safe here at Hogwarts. Now more than ever—we've added more charms and spells around the school. Every secret passage is being guarded, and every entrance has been enchanted. However, the potential kidnapping of a teacher is likely to make many of the students feel very uncomfortable indeed."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"Your information, Harry, will be valuable in the search. If nothing else, we know now that Severus is still alive," Dumbledore said gravely. "However, I want to plead with you once again. Do not attempt to reinitiate this link."  
  
"But Professor," Harry said, "it's been useful so far! It hasn't hurt me at all—"  
  
Ron snorted. Harry glared at him.  
  
"You wished to say something, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.  
  
"Er, no sir," Ron said quickly, after a glance at Harry.  
  
"Then I will," Hermione said irritably. "Harry was gone for hours. Eventually Ron and Neville had to wake him up. They said he looked like he was dead, sir."  
  
"I was fine," Harry insisted, angrily. "If they hadn't woken me up, I might've found out something useful."  
  
"He wasn't breathing," Ron said quietly. "And he was ice cold." Harry glared at Ron, who didn't meet his gaze.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting down again. "I am asking you—not as your headmaster, but as a concerned friend—not to try this again. You have no idea how dangerous these attempts are. Voldemort has not sensed your presence yet, and you don't realize how lucky you are that that is the case. When he does, he could harm you in ways you cannot imagine."  
  
Dumbledore leaned over the desk. Harry had never seen him look so concerned. "I know that you want to help. I know that through these attempts you're trying to save lives. I understand that. But every time you try, you're putting your own life in terrible, terrible peril. Your parents, and your godfather, would never forgive me if I failed to stop you. I am an old man, Harry. I would hate to bear the burden of their disapproval. Promise me you won't attempt the link again."  
  
Harry was shocked. Of all the things he had expected Dumbledore to say about his using the link, calling on his parents' and Sirius's memories hadn't been one of them. He nodded mutely.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. He steepled his hands under his mustache again. "Now, about the information you uncovered tonight. You came across the de Malaise story, Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione jerked, as though waking out of a reverie, and nodded. "I think they might have learned how Pennyworth did the spell, Professor, and that's how they got into Harry's house."  
  
"The vial that Harry saw in Voldemort's hand certainly seems to corroborate your theory," Dumbledore said.  
  
"Oh, poo," said one of the portraits, a particularly frail looking old witch in a silk gown. "I knew Jacques de Malaise in my day, you know. A student in Hufflepuff. He was a terrible liar. I wouldn't trust a word he said any more than I'd trust a billygoat." She scowled. "I once caught him in the owlery with a pot of jam and a boggart in a jar. He said he was—"  
  
"Thank you, Dora," Dumbledore said quickly. "We did consider the possibility that someone had tried that method this summer, but not particularly seriously. To the best of our knowledge, no one knows how Pennyworth performed the spell."  
  
"McGonagall—er, Professor McGonagall—said he got the girl—er, Lady Catherine—to murder her uncle," Ron said. He sounded as though he were very much hoping Dumbledore would dismiss this possibility outright.  
  
"It is a popular theory," Dumbledore said. "But I have had the opportunity to speak with Lady Catherine several times, and I find it very hard to believe that she would be capable of such a thing—even under the influence of magic."  
  
The three of them exchanged a glance of surprise. Dumbledore had spoken with Lady Catherine? Wasn't that impossible?  
  
"But Professor McGonagall said that Lady Catherine died right after the attack," Hermione said, breaking their silence. "And even if she hadn't, it happened five hundred years ago! She'd be long dead, wouldn't she?"  
  
"Lady Catherine the Gray died a few months after her uncle's untimely death," Dumbledore nodded. "She's resided here at Hogwarts ever since. I find her to be a noble and good-natured young woman."  
  
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the whirring and clicking of Dumbledore's many silver instruments. Then Hermione's eyes widened into two circles of surprise. "Oh," she whispered.  
  
"By Jove, she certainly figured that out quickly!" laughed a portly old headmaster in a gilt frame.  
  
"Figured out what? What's going on?" demanded the frail old headmistress. "Are we still talking about de Malaise?"  
  
"What do you mean she's resided at Hogwarts ever since?" Ron asked. "You mean she's buried here?"  
  
"Lady Catherine the Gray, Ron," Hermione said.  
  
Harry's jaw dropped a bit. "You don't mean—"  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Our very own Ravenclaw ghost. The Gray Lady," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid I've never broached the subject of the Pennyworth incident with her. Sir Nicholas warned me many years ago that it upsets her too much. However, under the circumstances…" Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Armando, if you would be so kind?"  
  
"Certainly," said the nearly-bald Armando Dippet from his portrait near Dumbledore's desk. "My old house, you know," he said conspiratorially to Harry. "Know the Gray Lady well." He stepped out of his frame, and ran through the portraits around the room, forcing several former Headmasters and headmistresses to squeeze almost out of their own frames to make room for him.  
  
"Do you think she knows something Professor?" Hermione asked.  
  
"If anyone does, it will be Lady Catherine. Fortunately few wizards have made the connection between the famed Lady Catherine the Gray and our own house ghost, so she's been allowed her privacy for many years now." Dumbledore smiled. "She is a lovely woman. I wonder if you've had the opportunity to speak with her?"  
  
"Er," Harry said, "not really, no." The Gray Lady had always been a part of the Hogwarts scenery for him. She was just another glowing silver face that he saw roaming the halls with the other house ghosts, another face singing Christmas carols in a ghostly whisper.  
  
"Pity," Dumbledore said. "She's most knowledgeable about magical beasts. In her day, they say she was the most prolific Jarvey breeder in the wizarding world. Of course, Jarveys have rather gone out of style nowadays, despite their usefulness with gnomes. It's their rather salty language, I'm afraid."  
  
"But Professor, if she could tell you the truth, why didn't you ask her sooner?" Hermione asked.  
  
"We didn't believe the story was true, Miss Granger. I still have my doubts," Dumbledore confided. "But that vial that Harry saw with Voldemort suggests a scenario which we need to verify as soon as possible."  
  
Armando Dippet reappeared in his portrait. "She's on her way up," he said, his face slightly red.  
  
A moment later, the silvery form of the Gray Lady slid into the room. "Good evening, Albus," she said. Her voice was faint, as though it were far away, but it was thick, like the purring of a contented cat. "You sent for me?"  
  
"I hope we are not disturbing you, madame," Dumbledore said, standing.  
  
"Not at all," the Gray Lady said cheerfully. "I was just having a game of snakes and ladders with Sir Nicholas and the Baron."  
  
"I'm afraid, madame, that I must ask for your help," said Dumbledore. "It is a rather unpleasant matter."  
  
The Gray Lady settled herself on a chair near Dumbledore, spreading her skirts out graciously before her. "In all things I am your most humble servant, Albus," she said pleasantly. "How may I assist you?"  
  
"I need to know about Bradfelt Pennyworth," Dumbledore said slowly.  
  
The Gray Lady raised a silvery hand to her mouth, and looked away. She said nothing.  
  
"I understand you knew him?" Dumbledore said soothingly.  
  
"It is not something I speak of, Albus," The Gray lady murmured. Now her voice seemed to have faded to a tired whisper. "Bradfelt is long dead, and his story buried with him."  
  
"Please forgive my indiscretion," Dumbledore said. He paused for a moment, allowing the Gray Lady to compose herself. She looked up mournfully. "Perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "you heard about the attack on Mr. Potter this summer?"  
  
"Of course," she said. She straightened, and lifted her head aristocratically. "It was a matter of concern among us ghosts. We worry for all of our students, of course."  
  
"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps, madame, you did not know that Mr. Potter was protected by a powerful charm placed on him by his mother. I myself saw to it that Mr. Potter would be protected so long as he lived in his mother's sister's home."  
  
"A charm much like that used to protect my Uncle Apollonius from Bradfelt," the Gray Lady murmured. "Yes, I see what you are suggesting. You want me to tell you if the stories are true."  
  
Dumbledore nodded solemnly.  
  
The Gray Lady sighed. She straightened herself, and when she spoke, it was with the resigned voice of one telling a long and painful tale. "I loved my uncle. I never knew my own father, you know. He was a dragon enthusiast, and died in an accident involving a pair of temperamental Chinese Fireballs shortly before I was born. Uncle Apollonius moved in with my mother and I, and he loved me like a father. He encouraged my love of magical creatures and taught me everything he knew.  
  
"I went to Hogwarts as a girl," she continued. Harry thought her expression looked rather wooden. "I was very happy here. When I turned seventeen and had to leave, I was most distressed. Returning to the life of a simple country witch seemed so unappealing after all the excitement and joy of Hogwarts. I was very lonely after I returned home.  
  
"Then, I attended a party given by Mother's friend, Wendolyn of Whitower. It was there that I met Bradfelt. Of course, I had heard all the old stories about Pennyworth and Uncle Apollonius. I never would have trusted him." She looked out the window, as though watching a scene only she could see. "He drank polyjuice potion, you see. He took the appearance of some other man, and he introduced himself as Bradfelt Goodcent.  
  
"From that night on, he was seated next to me at every party or dinner I attended. He seemed so perfect. He was interested in me, and he knew some of the most fascinating stories. I loved him very deeply. I wanted nothing so much as to be near him. He asked me to marry him.  
  
"My uncle deeply opposed the match. He had never met Bradfelt, you see. My uncle had grown to fear Pennyworth's repeated attacks so much that he never left the house any more. In those days, Bradfelt should have spoken to my uncle before he asked me, and my uncle was always a stickler for tradition. I told Bradfelt that I could not marry him until he spoke to my uncle."  
  
The Gray Lady turned her head to look at Dumbledore. "The stories that circulated after my death claim that it was at that point that he enchanted me to murder my uncle. But there was no truth to those lies. Bradfelt told me that he could not speak to Uncle Apollonius because he was a distant cousin of Pennyworth, and the charm would not allow him to enter the house.  
  
"Jacques de Malaise's story is true," she murmured. "Bradfelt told me he knew of a charm to enter the house. He said an incantation and cut my hand."  
  
The Gray Lady raised her right hand. Across the palm was a faint, glowing white line. "This is where it was done. He took the blood of my hand and put it in a tiny bottle around his neck. I watched him go into the manor. A moment later, a flash of green light shone from every window. I panicked, and ran into the house. Too late—I found my uncle dead.  
  
"I mourned two losses that day. My uncle's, of course, but also that of the Bradfelt I had loved. He had never even existed. I wasted away from my grief and guilt after that. Within a year I was dead. I could not bear to face my uncle in the afterlife, so I became a ghost. I returned to Hogwarts, the only place I was truly happy." The Gray Lady sighed. "And that, my dear Albus, is my whole sad story."  
  
For a moment they were silent, giving the Gray Lady a chance to compose herself. Then Dumbledore spoke. "Thank you, Lady Catherine, for your candor. I know this has been most unpleasant for you. Now, I must ask you one more important question. Do you have any idea how Voldemort might have discovered the spell that Pennyworth used? Did he keep a diary perhaps?"  
  
"All this time, I thought the secret died with me," the Gray Lady said. "I never thought anyone would be able to duplicate his results. You see, no one else has ever been able to do it, because everyone—even de Malaise himself—believed that Bradfelt had used a new spell. Everyone thought he had invented some kind of all-powerful incantation. In fact, he used a very simple spell. One I imagine even a few of the students here can manage."  
  
Harry leaned forward, and found that he was sitting on the end of his seat. "And?" Dumbledore prompted.  
  
"He used the Protean Charm," she said simply.  
  
"Ahh," Dumbledore said. "Ingenious."  
  
"The Protean Charm?" Hermione exclaimed. "How could that possibly—?" Then a light appeared to be lit behind her eyes. "Oh, of course."  
  
"The Protean Charm?" Harry asked. Wasn't that the spell Hermione used to enchant the galleons so that the DA members would know when the next meeting was?  
  
"It's a spell to change the shape of a thing so that it mimics the shape of another," Dumbledore explained. "I've never heard of it applied to people before, but with a few modifications—"  
  
"Yes," the Gray Lady concurred. "'Protea Sanguine.'"  
  
"That would modify the spell to affect only blood," Hermione said. "Yes, of course he'd need to keep the real blood in the vial very close for that to work, though. And it was very risky. He might've died on the spot if he'd made a mistake—"  
  
"Pennyworth was very insistent on killing Uncle Apollonius," the Gray Lady said stiffly. "He would have considered it an acceptable risk."  
  
"And the Death Eaters wouldn't think twice about dying for Voldemort," Harry said.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Surely at some point along the line Pennyworth found some way of discerning whether you, Lady Catherine, and he had blood compatible enough to prevent him from dying. Voldemort probably chose his death eaters in the same way." Of course, Harry thought. No wonder Voldemort hadn't sent his top death eaters—he had needed ones who were somehow compatible with Dudley.  
  
Dumbledore turned his attention again to the Lady Catherine. "Madame, can you think of any way Voldemort's supporters might have discovered this information?"  
  
"As I said, I thought it died with me. I considered myself the last guardian of the secret. But—" she frowned. "I suppose they might've used dark magic."  
  
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you again for your openness this evening, madame. I know this was difficult for you, but you have been most helpful."  
  
The Gray Lady stood. Dumbledore rose to his feet. "It is ever my pleasure to serve you," she said, returning to the purring voice she had used when she first entered the room. "If ever I can be of assistance to you, don't hesitate to ask."  
  
She nodded graciously at the students. "Good luck to you. And good evening to you all," she said, bowing her head slightly.  
  
"Good evening, Lady Catherine," Dumbledore said. The Gray Lady swept out of the room, vanishing through a bookshelf to the right of the claw-footed desk.  
  
"Well," Dumbledore continued, sinking back into his chair. "I suppose that's as much information as we're going to get tonight."  
  
"What about Dudley?" Harry blurted out. "Aren't we going to talk to him?"  
  
"Of course. I'll be sending a message to your Aunt and Uncle right away, Harry." They would love that, Harry thought. He could just imagine Uncle Vernon's beefy face as he read a letter informing that his son had potentially been enchanted by evil wizards.  
  
"One more thing before you go, please, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Have you given any consideration to where you will be staying this Christmas?"  
  
"What?" Harry said surprised. "Oh—er, not really, no sir."  
  
"He's staying with us at the Burrow, Professor," Ron said.  
  
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Weasley. Harry needs to stay in protected areas," Dumbledore replied. "That means either Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place."  
  
"Oh," Harry said lamely.  
  
"The decision is entirely yours, of course," Dumbledore said. "But personally, I would like to entreat you to return to Grimmauld Place for the holidays. I have no doubt that Hogwarts will be rather deserted this year, and I would prefer that you not be so isolated. Besides," he said, the twinkle returning to his eye, "I suspect that Remus and Mira would be quite pleased to have you home. Professor McGonagall will be coming around with the sign-up sheets tomorrow, Harry, so please consider it."  
  
"Sure, Professor," Harry said.  
  
"And maybe you can convince your parents to go as well, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, smiling.  
  
"Think about it," Dumbledore encouraged, smiling. "And now, I think it would be best if the three of you went on to bed. It is well past bedtime, you know. Pleasant dreams." 


	22. Ginny's Ire

Author's note: well it seems like there have been a lot of delays lately. Just when we'd gotten back in good shape I have to announce another one. Unfortunately, I broke my right arm right before this was due to go up. As I write a lot of the story longhand, and my type speed went from 100 wpm to around 30, this is a definite prolem. I'll only be in the cast for another month or so. I'm not putting the story on hiatus, but updates might be a wee bit further between. I'll do my best to keep posting, I promise.  
  
Also, no reviewer responses for a while. Sorry. It's too hard to type.  
  
Best,  
  
Neoepiphany  
  
p.s. Seymour—I'll do your fanart as soon as I can! Good choice.  
  
------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two  
  
Ginny's Ire  
  
"You have to go back to Grimmauld Place," Hermione said. "This is exactly the opportunity we've been looking for!" They turned down an expansive corridor with cathedral ceilings. Their footsteps echoed like thunder.  
  
"How so?" Ron asked.  
  
"We can find out what Mira's up to, of course," Hermione said. "Once we're all at Grimmauld Place, we can keep an eye on her all the time! Maybe we can find some kind of proof that she is the spy."  
  
"What do you mean 'we'?" Ron asked. "I thought you were going home."  
  
"I'll just have to tell my parents I need to stay," Hermione said. "They'll be disappointed, of course. Especially after last Christmas, but I'm sure they'll understand. They know that there are some pretty awful things happening in the wizarding world. If I just tell them that I'll be safer with you two—" She shrugged.  
  
"Mum might be a problem," Ron frowned. "She'll definitely want to keep Harry company, but she really hates Mira."  
  
"She does?" Harry said, startled.  
  
"I think so," Ron replied. "I mean, she doesn't let on, but if you watch her face—her eye kind of twitches whenever Mira's in the room. It might take some convincing."  
  
"Get Ginny to help you," Hermione said simply. "She can do it if you can't."  
  
"I didn't say I couldn't do it," Ron said. He crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
But Harry thought they ought to ask for Ginny's help anyway. He remembered his mental promise to tell her everything they'd been keeping from her. He supposed now was the time. "We need to talk to Ginny anyway. We ought to tell her about Snape. And about my vision," Harry said.  
  
The hallways were deserted except for a few seventh year students, who were allowed to stay up later than anyone else. As they walked back to the common room, Ron and Hermione began arguing about something to do with the holidays. Harry automatically tuned them out.  
  
They found Ginny sitting with Dean on one of the cushier sofas. Ron rolled his eyes in disgust when he saw that they were sitting close together and giggling. Dean seemed to be drawing something on a pad of paper that he held between them. "Do they have to do that in public?" Ron said irritably.  
  
"Some people don't have a problem showing affection," Hermione said airily.  
  
Harry didn't say anything. He walked around the sofa.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Dean said. "How's it going, mate?"  
  
Harry ignored him. "Can I have a word with you, Ginny?" he said.  
  
They both looked a little startled. Dean looked at Ginny, an eyebrow raised. "Er, sure," Ginny said. She looked at Dean. "Give us a minute?"  
  
"Sure," he said, standing up. He gave Harry and Ginny a furtive look as he crossed the room.  
  
Harry sat down next to Ginny. Ron and Hermione sat down on her other side. Ginny looked back and forth in surprise, but then her expression steeled. She straightened her back and put her hands in her lap robotically. Harry thought with surprise that she looked rather like McGonagall when she frowned like that. "So," she said. "You've finally decided to share the big secret."  
  
"What big secret?" Ron said.  
  
"Oh, please," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow at him. "You three have been running around for months like some sort of secret agents. And ever since Snape vanished you've been ten times worse."  
  
"Look," Harry said, "I'm really sorry we didn't tell you straight away. It's nothing personal. There just wasn't a good time."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Harry," Ginny said, turing her cool expression on him. "But quit wasting time. Tell me whatever you want to tell me."  
  
Harry took a deep breath, and launched into the story. He began at a whisper, starting with the newspaper article, then his vision, Hermione's discovery of de Malaise's memoirs, and finishing with their conversation with Dumbledore. Ginny didn't say a word. She listened, staring straight ahead at the back of a group of fourth years bent over their books. Occassionally she'd nod to show that she was listening.  
  
"So," Harry finished, "we need your help."  
  
"Convincing Mum to take the family to you-know-where for the holidays won't be a problem," Ginny said. "All we have to do is ask. She'll want to be near Harry anyway. The bigger question is when are you going to tell all this to Neville and Luna?"  
  
"What?" Harry said, taken aback. "Why should I tell Neville and Luna?"  
  
Ginny looked at him in genuine shock. "Oh, come on, Harry. I can forgive you for keeping me out of the loop for a while, but—" She frowned. "You're serious, aren't you? You honestly don't know why you should tell Neville and Luna." Ginny's face took on a strange expression. Harry realized with a jolt that she was angry with him. Angrier than he'd ever seen her.  
  
"They are a part of this, you know. Who was with you in the Ministry, when the Death Eaters attacked?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you—" she wheeled on Ron, "who carried you—and me—out of the ministry? Who practically saved your life? And you—" she began, looking at Hermione.  
  
"I get your point, Ginny," Hermione said irritably. "You're right. We should include them."  
  
"No," Harry said.  
  
"What?" Ginny looked at him. "What do you mean, no? Neville was the one who found you nearly dead last weekend. How do you think that made him feel? And Luna. Have you even talked to Luna in months? Outside of the DA, I mean."  
  
Harry realized with a guilty pang that he hadn't. He had liked Luna, but there had just been so much going on. "No," he said quietly. "But if we include them, they'll just be in danger. I can't do that to them."  
  
"You are an idiot," Ginny said coldly.  
  
"Excuse me?" Harry said. He could feel his temper rising. He had managed to get a grip on it, but there had been too much going on. He was going to lose it at any moment.  
  
"You heard me," she said. "Who do you think you are to decide that for them?"  
  
"I think I'm their friend," Harry snapped.  
  
"Oh, so you're not going to include them because you're their friend," Ginny said, managing to squeeze a lot of irritation into the last two words. "But Ron, Hermione, and me are okay? What, we aren't your friends anymore? We're what—your lackeys? Your sidekicks?"  
  
"Ron," said Hermione loudly, in artificially cheery tones. "I want to show you something over there."  
  
"Sure thing, Hermione," Ron replied loudly. The two of them stood up and sidled away toward the hearth, where they sat down next to a pair of seventh years. Their departure just made Harry angrier. He felt like he'd swallowed a boiling potion.  
  
"Now you're being stupid," he hissed at Ginny. "I can't keep Ron and Hermione out of it."  
  
"Why not?" Ginny demanded. "They're not your friends?"  
  
"Of course they are!" Harry snapped. "But they're different, and you know it."  
  
"What about me, then?"  
  
"We needed your help!"  
  
"Ah," said Ginny, leaning back on the sofa. "So that's it then. You tell me because you need my help. But so long as you don't need anything from them, there's no point in talking to them."  
  
"That's not it at all," Harry sputtered.  
  
Ginny stood up. She didn't look at him, but over his head, at the stairs to the girls' dormitory. When she spoke, her voice was cold and impassive. "I will help you, Harry, because I think it's important. But if you don't treat your friends any better than this, I'm not sure I want you to count me as one of them."  
  
Harry stared at her, flabbergasted as she walked out of the common room. Dean tried to talk to her, but she pushed past him up the stairs to her dormitory. Dean looked at Harry, his jaw set.  
  
Ron moved tentatively back toward the sofa and sat down beside Harry. "Thank you so much for your help there," Harry said.  
  
"I've learned not to fight with my sister," Ron said. They stared at the seventh years in silence for a minute.  
  
"Do you think she was right?" Harry asked.  
  
"I think she has a point," Ron said carefully. "I don't know about Luna, but I think we ought to tell Neville about what happened Sunday, at least. He was the one that found you. He's probably terrified that you're going to snuff it in your sleep."  
  
Harry watched the seventh years for a moment. "We should finish our homework," he said tonelessly.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said. "Hermione said the same thing. Except we left our bags in the library."  
  
Harry groaned. They couldn't do any more homework now. It was well past curfew—they'd never make it to the library now. He could use the invisibility cloak, of course, but he didn't really have the energy to take such a risk just so that they could finish carniverous mushroom essays. They'd have to make an early start of it in the morning.  
  
"I'm going to bed then," he said. He wished Ron and Hermione goodnight, and walked up to the dormitory. He wasn't really tired, though. He was angry. He wanted to yell at Ginny, but he wasn't sure it was her he was angry at. When he really thought about it, she was right. He hadn't been fair to Neville and Luna. He forced the idea out of his head, and tried to concentrate on remembering the seven principles of safe human transfiguration.   
  
He changed into his pajamas and slumped back onto his bed. After a few minutes, Dean came up into the dormitory. Harry ignored him as he rummaged around in his nightstand, pulled out a leather pencil-bag, an headed for the stairs. Dean paused near the foot of Harry's bed.  
  
"Harry? You awake?" he said.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. He stared at the stone ceiling.  
  
"What did you and Ginny talk about?" he asked.  
  
Harry stared at the ceiling for a moment longer. "Nothing," he said at last.  
  
"Right," Dean said, and left the dormitory. Harry pulled the curtains closed, and after a while, he heard the sound of others getting ready for bed.  
  
The next day, Harry and Ron were up well before sunrise to finish their essays. They made a rather hurried job of it, though, and Harry worried that Professor Garlick would think that he was a bit of an idiot.  
  
Harry's exhaustion seemed to go on for days, and as the last few days before the Christmas holidays approached, he found that he was looking forward to the break more than he ever had. Mrs. Weasley's owl had arrived at Hogwarts a few days previously, and, just as Ginny had predicted, she had said that of course the entire Weasley clan—or at least, as much of it as was available—would be keeping Harry company in Grimmauld Place. Hermione's mum and dad also sent word that they would be sorry to see another holiday without her, but if she would be safer and happy at school, then of course she should stay.  
  
The school itself was full of end-of-term excitement. The usual decorations had gone up all over the school. Six giant Christmas trees stood in the Great Hall, each one festooned with everlasting icecicles, red and gold ribbons, and twinklin faries that floated up and down among the branches, tittering and chirping happily. Professer Flitwick had charmed pretty multi-colored bubbles to float around his classroom. They spent their last class of term reviewing various charms by having a tin-soldier battle in the air above the classroom. Harry's side lost terribly—Neville's exploding fruit bombs had wiped out their entire forward line.  
  
Their last potions class was even a bit of fun. They had a bit of a break and made Caroling Quaffs, a very easy potion that made the drinker burst into song. Professor Garlick passed back their essays at the end of the lesson, and as predicted, Harry and Ron both got dismal grades. Harry quickly took in the "P—Bit rushed, this, Potter! Next time put in some real effort," wadded up the parchment, and shoved it in his bag before Hermione could see it.  
  
The last DA meeting of term was that evening. Harry went a bit early, remembering Dobby's decoratins from the previous year. Luckily, no Christmas bobbles shaped like his head adorned the walls this year. Dobby had put up ropes of silver ivy, glittering snowballs, and, of course, the traditional bundle of misteltoe. Harry gave that a wide berth.  
  
Luna was the first to show up, again. "Hello, Harry," she said. "Looking forward to the Holidays?"  
  
"Yeah, of course," Harry said. He felt a flush creeping up his back; he suspected he must still be guilty about what Ginny had said.  
  
"Me too," Luna said. "Dad and I are going back to Switzerland. He met a lovely witch there, and she's invited us back for skiing."  
  
"That sounds nice," Harry said.  
  
"Yeah," Luna nodded. She went on, dreamily, "Oh, Ginny told me earlier that you wanted to talk to me."  
  
"What?" Harry said. "That I—? No, I don't. I mean, yes, I do want to talk to you, but, er—" He swallowed hard and composed himself. "I just don't want to talk to you tonight. After the holidays, okay?"  
  
"Sure, fine," Luna said. Was Harry imagining it, or had some of the airy-fairyness of her voice evaporated? He was about to say something to her when the door swung open and half the DA walked in. Luna took her seat and Harry got immediately enveloped in a conversation about vampires.  
  
After the meeting, Harry stayed behind a bit to pack his things up. To tell the truth, he was hoping to borrow one of the defense books from the Room of Requirement for a little holiday reading. To his annoyance, Ginny hung around too.  
  
"You didn't talk to her, did you?" Ginny said, after the rest of the DA had gone.  
  
"Of course I did," Harry snapped back. "I talked to her a bit. But I didn't exactly have time to tell her everything, did I?"  
  
"Did you even try?" Ginny frowned.  
  
Harry clenched his teeth. "Ginny, are you going to be like this all holiday? Look, I promise I'll tell them, okay?" Harry tossed his things into his bag with rather more noise than necessary.  
  
"There's no need for that," Ginny said, scowling. "So long as you promise, that's fine with me."  
  
"I promise," Harry said, exasperatedly.  
  
"Fine. See you around, Harry," she said coolly, and left the room.  
  
Harry returned back to Gryffindor tower in a foul mood. He plopped down in a chair next to Ron.  
  
"Honestly," he said, without preamble, "I don't know how you live with her."  
  
Ron's jaw worked as he silently repeated this statement. "Her who? Hermione? Ginny? Er—Mum?"  
  
"Ginny," Harry said. "She hung around after the—well, after, to nag me about talking to Neville and Luna."  
  
"You are going to, aren't you?" Hermione piped up.  
  
"Of course I am," Harry snapped at her. "I said I would didn't I?"  
  
"All right—all right," Ron said, raising his hands defensively. "No need to get angry. Ginny's just like that. She never lets anything go."  
  
"She's just worried about you, Harry," Hermione said.  
  
"Worried about me?" he repeated. "Worried about me? I'd be fine if she'd leave me alone!"  
  
"She's worried," said Hermione calmly, "that you'll lose them both as friends."  
  
Harry scowled. "She—what?"  
  
"Haven't you noticed that Neville's been acting funny toward us?" Hermione said. "And not that I'm complaining, but we aren't seeing as much of Luna, either."  
  
"No—" Harry said, "But that's still no good reason for her to nag me like that."  
  
"It's just Ginny's way," Ron said shrugging. "Nevermind. Want to work on your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay with me?"  
  
"I've already finished it," Harry said.  
  
"Brilliant—can I copy it?" Ron said. "Only joking, Hermione."  
  
In the end, he and Ron played exploding snap until he was too tired t keep his eyes open, and then he followed Ron and Seamus up to bed. As he closed his eyes, he drifted off, content in the thought that in just two days, he'd have two weeks of holidays, when he could really do something in the fight against Voldemort. 


End file.
